Stigmata Tomato
by BellaFlan
Summary: Alert the Darwin Awards! Bella Swan, depressed and demented, nearly dies trying to kill herself & is shipped to Forks WA. Watch her update her facebook status and fall in love. WARNING: MA, very dark comedy. OOC w/ nod to canon , E/B some Jake , AH
1. Suicide is Painless

**Author's Note: This is my first stab at pure A/H. I like to write two fics at once, and this one will hopefully appeal to Becoming Bella Swan readers. Since BBS is in the last chapters (as is Imprinted), I wanted to introduce this sick little project I've been working on. The genre is a little experimental: a blending of angst and comedy. Certain elements of the characters are canon, with a little twist of nasty and fun. Please note that Stigmato is in essence an MA fic, and it will include dark themes, adult situations including lemons, and some minor drug use... oh and Canadian spelling! Each chapter will begin with Bella's facebook status as there were be lots of references to social media. **

**Here are the folks I couldn't do this shit without. Please note that there's a chance many of them were drunk during this editing process:**

**Primary beta: jkane180 (drunk)**

**Pre-readers: mac214 (drinking), wordslinger (um, not drinking but altered by some sort of substance) and bforqueen (European so probably drunk)**

**Hand holders: hezpixie (very drunk), Dragonfly336 (not sure) and JaspersIzzy (cloudy, with a chance of drunk)**

Chapter one: Suicide is Painless

Facebook status: Killing myself.

The bathwater had cooled to tepid, but still, I held a steak knife to the bluish flesh of my wrist without any real follow-through. The serrated edge was duller than I expected. Shit, this was stupid. Who was I kidding? It's not like I had the stomach to slice through my skin, not when I couldn't even apply enough pressure to tear through the first dead layer. Also, what if I didn't kill myself all-the-way dead and contracted Tetanus or something?

Do not misunderstand my intentions; I totally intended to die. I mean, I thought I did, but there was no way I could butcher myself like a stuck pig. Perhaps I should explain myself...

To state the obvious: I was fucking depressed. It was beyond anything I could articulate on my sad little blog (ironically called "Sylvia Plath is Dead," but I digress). I was shrouded in a hackneyed darkness of epic proportions that I couldn't see any logical way out of. Intellectually, I understood that I was young, only eighteen, and likely my perspective would change given enough time and opportunity, but who the fuck took the time to check in with the left side of the brain when contemplating offing oneself?

So after some well thought out tweeting with my childhood friend, Jake, I made a twitter poll list entitled "Best Ways for Bella Swan to End her Pathetic Existence." In hindsight, not exactly the smartest plan, but I loved making lists. Taking random information and formulating a workable plan out of it was like mapping the stars; finding order in the seemingly chaotic universe. The Devil is not, in fact, in the details; God is.

Faced with the bitter reality that my plan didn't work, I forced myself to admit defeat. My fingers were prunes, and my fucking wrists were sore. Man, I should have known I'd fail. Why did I bother pulling a towel out of the linen closet if I was supposed to bleed out in the tub? Renee would have been pissed if I stained the good Ralph Lauren towels. Actually, that in itself made it almost worth shedding a few drops of blood onto the white terry cloth.

The water sloshed over the side of the tub as I heaved my body out. It didn't matter that I soaked the floor. It didn't matter that mould would now grow under the shaggy bathmat, and everyone would inhale spores and die of the lethal biohazard that water and natural fibres breed. _Apathy is part of the human condition. _It was a cold comfort that maybe I would die and no one would care.

That's when I slipped and cracked my head open on the faucet. Hm, best laid plans, and all that...

My last thought before my vision darkened was: _I'm one of those assholes they write about in chain emails. I'm a Darwin Award recipient._

-({})-

"Bells." Charlie looked old. Did I do that to him?

"Hey, Charlie." I did my best to smile, allowing him to relieve me of my bags.

"Is that it?"

"Nah, Mom's shipping the rest."

He nodded and pulled my backpack onto his shoulder, towing my luggage behind him.

SeaTac was a zoo. I huddled against father's side before I realized I was dangerously close to actually touching him. He stiffened as my sweater brushed his shirt.

"A lot's changed since you last visited," he explained, feigning excitement.

"Oh yeah?"

"We, er, have a Wal-mart..."

"Forks has a Wal-mart?"

"Nah, Port Angeles does."

"Awesome. Now I know where to go to buy ammo for my rifle." _You know, to shoot myself in the head with._

"You thinking of hunting?" Dear Lord, his eyes actually lit up at the prospect.

"No, Charlie. Maybe just fishing, okay?"

He nodded and loaded my bags into the back of an old Chrysler. "We're going fishing tomorrow. I know Jacob would love to see you."

"Sounds good, Dad."

"Need to stop in at Newton's for some new lures. Do you mind, Bells?"

"It's fine." I yawned. Really, it wasn't fine at all. I just wanted to go home, and by 'home,' I did _not _mean my father's house. Not for the first time, I wished my mother wasn't such a weak piece of shit. Renee needed to be handled, and I was tired of being the one to do it. She was Phil's problem now.

Fuck, Renee's guilt trip was on an infinite loop in my head.

_"Bella? Bella? You scared me! How could you do this to us?"_

_"I slipped, Mom. It was just an accident."_

Only I could manage to slip and fall onto a dull knife, effectively slicing through my arm. Of course, my drama-queen of a mother refused to listen to the voice of reason. It was just an accident. What kind of idiot would commit suicide by both cutting her arm open and giving herself a concussion?

"It'll just take a couple of minutes, Bells." Charlie wrenched the gearshift into park and cut the engine, but the truck still shuddered like it was suffering from some sort of automotive palsy. "Takes her a while to calm down. Lemme help you out of the car. Billy said the door sticks a little."

"What's with the crap-mobile? What's wrong with the cruiser?"

"Well, I was going to wait but, it's a gift... for you."

"Me? You're giving me this piece of shit? Um, thanks?" Did I look like a hillbilly? Shit, I was so grateful to get out of the pile of rust, I suddenly had a greater appreciation for the phrase, 'get the fuck out of Dodge.'

"I just want to see you smile again, Bells. I figured you'd want your own car." Well, fuck. That was sweet.

"Yeah, Dad. It's great..." My tongue tripped over the last word as something shiny in the parking lot caught my attention. A silver Volvo glared haughtily at my crap-heap, and instantly, I was ashamed. "Woah... fancy." Even fancier still was the boy who emerged from the vehicle, his hair arranged on his head like he had been fucking all afternoon and then he sprayed it in place during the post-coital afterglow. He ran his hand through his hair a few times and dropped his keys into his front pocket, pulling the jeans down slightly in the process. I became aware of drool forming on my chin. Shit, he was better than anything my wet dreams could ever conjure up, and I suddenly regretted not packing my dildo in my carry-on. He strutted into the sporting goods store, moving with an almost feline grace.

He was so beautiful that he practically sparkled.

"Coming, Bella?"

"Almost," I gasped, before remembering that it was my father speaking so, _ew_. "I mean, yeah, I'm... following."

Charlie shot me a bewildered look and disappeared inside the store while I pondered why beautiful creatures like this boy had to be put on the earth to torment the morbidly plain like myself. Chewing on my fingers like an asshole, I paced a path in front of the entrance and tried to pull up Tweetdeck on my iPhone but the _Fail Whale _was beached on my screen. "Mother shitter!" I cursed and walked into the front door as it swung open.

"Holy fuck, are you okay?" a chorus of Angels sang from somewhere above me... well, not really, but the voice was so beautiful it was practically inhuman. I didn't need to look up, it was plainly clear the owner of said voice was Mr. Sex-on-a-stick himself. He offered me a hand, and I stared at the beautiful fist from my spot on the ground, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the appendage. "May I help you up?"

"I'm fine," I said, except my nose was totally bleeding.

"Shit, your nose. Come to my car, okay?" he pleaded, but I didn't move. "I'm not a psycho; you're perfectly safe with me, I swear." Yeah, that _so_ wasn't true. I was obviously a danger to myself and others.

"I'm fine," I repeated. He ignored me and removed his shirt, pressing it up to my nose.

"Tilt your head back."

"I'm so sorry!" I stammered.

"Are you apologizing for bleeding?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

His eyes narrowed, but he smiled. "You're Isabella Swan, right?"

"Bella... but, yeah." I coughed up a little blood as girlishly as I could manage.

"I'm Edward Cullen." He balled up the shirt and turned it around, applying pressure with the clean side. "I'm calling my dad, okay? He'll come see you."

"We only just met," I protested like a retread.

Edward smirked. "He's a doctor.

"Right." _Someone shut me up!_ "Actually, I'm fine. Really." I pulled the shirt away from my face and so help me, Edward tilted my head back and peered up my nostril.

"I think the bleeding stopped."

"Excellent. Do you want your shirt back?"

"You can go ahead and keep that."

I sneezed a blood clot onto his shoe. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, Bella. I'm going to let your father know what happened, okay? I'll be right back."

"Ah-huh," I nodded.

"Don't go anywhere." For some reason he looked incredulous.

"I won't." _See, asshole? _I cursed at myself, _This is why you can't have nice things_. Could I have fucked up a first impression any worse? Well, probably...

He disappeared inside the store, and I stared sadly at his blood-stained shirt. It had obviously been expensive. Now it couldn't even be used as a rag.

Somehow everything I touched turned to shit.

There was no way I could face Edward again. Suddenly overtaken by my intrinsic flight instinct, I fucking bolted as if I was being chased by some demon other than my own cowardice.

**Author's Note: What did you think? Good, bad, strange? I need feedback! **


	2. Mixed Smoke Signals

**Author's Note: Thanks to jkane180 for beta'ing my ass, and to mac214 (2nd beta), ****wordslinger, ****bforqueen and hez_pixie for the pre-reads. **

**Liability disclaimer: Please do not lynch me for this chapter. This is an E/B fic but Jake will figure into the story. He has to. I have an outline that says so. **

Facebook Status: Gone Fishin'

This is why fishing is just a crap idea: it requires getting up at the ass crack of dawn.

Charlie had insisted on driving the wretched truck. It coughed and sputtered and horked up oil, reminding me of my sick old grandmother's smoke-addled breathing when she was near the end of the road. Gramma Swan died from emphysema last year, and it was a relief. Fuck, not that I wished her dead or anything—it's just that it seemed like she was always dying from something or another; it was nice to no longer be at the edge of my seat waiting for her to finally kick the proverbial bucket, since she had been taking half-assed swipes at it my entire life.

Shit or get off the pot or whatever.

I caught sight of my hollowed out face in the rearview. Like Gramma Swan, I too was slowly disintegrating.

"You gonna be quiet the whole afternoon?"

"Huh?" I pulled one of my earbuds out.

"I was asking you a question, Bells."

"Sorry. What was the question?"

"Will you be nice to Jake? He's really excited to see you."

"C'mon, Dad! Don't start that shit again. If you want Billy to be part of your family, you're going to have to nut up and marry him yourself!"

"He'd treat you real nice, Bells," Charlie argued, unfazed.

"He's way too young."

"He's only a year younger than you!"

Fuck, men were stupid. "That's like dog years where boys are concerned," I explained, cringing as we pulled into the fishing village of La Push proper. "Technically, he's at least seven years my junior. He's just a kid." It had been about four years since I'd seen him in the flesh, but Jake and I just weren't like that.

"That's hardly fair. The last few years haven't been easy since the twins went away to college. Jake takes care of Billy, goes to school, and works part time. That's a lot of responsibility for a kid his age."

I rearranged my expression into what I hoped was a look of incredulity. "What's with the whole Yenta act? I'm no good for any boy right now. I've just got no interest in hooking up," I added, much to Charlie's chagrin. Of course, the statement was a blatant lie. I had every interest in the world of hooking up with Mr. Sex-hair, but since my first impression consisted of blowing a snot clot onto his shoe and bolting, chances were I wasn't going to be seducing him anytime soon.

"I just want you to be better... not sick anymore." Charlie cut the engine and wrenched the parking brake up as he spoke, stuttering over his words. "I just... I don't know how we could have fucked up so bad with you that you'd do that shit to yourself."

"Dad," I said slowly. "I didn't... I mean, yeah, maybe I wanted to, but I couldn't have gone through with it."

"I just don't get it."

Fuck, I really didn't want to have this conversation right now—or at all, for that matter. "Could we not do this? I'm fine." Charlie didn't seem convinced, his eyes following a path along my shirt sleeve to my wrist. Yeah, the telltale scar on my arm did nothing to help persuade him I was well-balanced. Meh, I couldn't be expected to placate him; I mean, I was the one who was off-kilter. Throwing my hands up in surrender, I said rather petulantly, "Look, Charlie: this is me taking my Effexor," and scrambled for my huge-ass bottle of red horse pills.

"I'll get some water from the cooler."

I gave Charlie my patented eye-roll, opened the Tweetdeck app on my phone, and expertly typed away at the screen.

_OMFG jblack180 – save me! We just arrived._

"Don't bother with the water. I got it!"Swallowing the pill dry, I nearly made a joke about my stellar gag reflex but then decided I'd already put my father through enough trauma for one lifetime. Also, I had become distracted by the fact that I couldn't open the car door. _Fucking crap heap! _The door seemed to have rusted shut on the drive, welding to the frame like a wound that had healed over along the cut, essentially mending the seam. I kicked at it several times until the fucker finally separated from the chassis. My luck did not improve upon exiting. The exact moment I jumped out, a black cloud descended upon me. No, not the depressive kind; the swarmy kind. Mosquitoes attacked what little exposed skin my modest t-shirt revealed. Cursing, I lifted the hem of my tee, revealing large flies under the material. I squealed like an asshole and lifted my shirt higher, shaking terrible, winged creatures out. "What the fuck?"

"The black flies are out," Charlie mused with a smirk. "They seem to really like you."

Excellent. After eighteen years of life, I'd finally achieved some sort of popularity. "Well, tell them to stop," I squeaked, swatting at my stomach.

"Calm down, Bells. I brought Deet. I'll spray you down."

"Give me that!" Forgetting modesty, and the fact that I was wearing a ratty old bra, I tore the shirt from my body and sprayed a mustard cloud of Deet over my torso until I was certain every last fly had flown the coup.

"Nice rack!" a deep, male voice cat-called.

"Thanks," I muttered, feeling every inch of my body blush over with hot shame. Fuck, I didn't want to raise my head. Instead, I glared at my feet and folded my arms over my breasts.

"Bells? Why did you take your shirt off?" Charlie asked from behind the truck.

"Shut the fuck up!" I muttered, squirming. I was fairly certain I was still being ogled by a random weirdo.

"Hey, don't ask her to get dressed on my account." The asshole started guffawing.

"Fuck you!" I cursed, balling my fists into my hips, thus revealing my sad little titties. I opened my mouth to let fly a scathing and witty retort; however, I found myself unable to process thought into language at the sight of said random asshole.

_Holy fucking crow! _

Approaching me, still laughing, was the second hottest man I'd ever seen in my pathetic life (the first hottest was Sex-hair, but faced with the blatant brawn of the warrior in front of me, it was hard to keep score). He took long strides toward me, clearing seemingly ten feet with each one, his low-slung jeans falling lower on his hips with every step and revealing a defined, bronzed 'V' I'd give my left ovary to touch.

Did I mention he was shirtless? Yeah, he totally was. His skin was dark, unmarred by hair or noticeable blemishes, and taut over large, defined muscle. Oh my fuck, I wanted to lick him or hump his leg... maybe both.

"Hey," I managed to whisper.

"Hi," he replied, standing maybe two feet away from me, flashing his white teeth in a blinding smile. Shit, I wished he'd touch me. Well, maybe he was a mind reader or I'd finally cashed in what little cosmic credit I had amassed because suddenly I found myself encased in an enthusiastic embrace. "Fuck, I missed you, old lady," he laughed, lifting me off the ground and burying his face in my hair.

"Huh?"

"C'mon, indulge me, Bells. Give me a little hug?"

"J-Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that you?" Um, did I mention I still had no shirt on? His skin was so hot against my own. I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered, "I've missed you so much," into his neck.

"Fuck, I've missed you too, Bells."

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt calm.

-({})-

"You have a mean left hook for a skinny white girl." Jake's idiot friend, Embry rubbed his jaw where I had struck him.

"Dude, you totally grabbed my ass. That shit is just not okay." I stopped talking to take a pull off the joint Jake offered, but I sputtered and choked as soon as the smoke hit my lungs. "What the fuck is in this?"

His friends laughed their respective asses off at my obvious lack of experience. "It's just weed," Jake smirked. "Don't worry about it, Bells. I shouldn't be getting you high."

"Yeah, man. Get her drunk so I can goose her again."

"Fuck you!" Jacob shoved Embry; however, he was grinning playfully.

"Way to defend my honour, ass monkey." Honestly, I was tired of being the butt of people's jokes. Jumping to my feet, it was my intention to run away from the bonfire and find my father, but Jake grabbed my arm and pulled me into a clumsy embrace.

"Forgive me?" he pleaded while I glowered.

"No."

"Wanna go for a walk?"

"No."

"I'll blow you a super?"

"Well, okay."

The rez boys hooted and hollered as Jake and I departed. Really clever shit too, like, "Do her!"

I waved my middle finger in reply.

"Sorry, Bells. They don't know that we're not like that."

My stomach plummeted to my toes. "Right." What was wrong with me? Why did his comment disappoint me so much? "I mean, that would be pretty stupid if we hooked up. Like incest or something."

"What? No!"

I shook my head and examined my hands. "Well, I mean, we've been friends forever and stuff."

"Do you _really_ think of me like your brother?"

"I dunno. I'm an only child. Maybe before..."

We stopped walking.

"Before?"

"Yeah," I swallowed thickly. "Before you grew up and looked like this," I explained, motioning at him.

"You like the way I look?"

"You're alright, I guess." This was so bloody humiliating. I had no real experience with boys, and my only sexual experience was too disgusting to allow myself to think about.

"Bells... if you like me I'm going to need some sort of signal. You've always made it pretty clear you only wanted to be friends."

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"I'll give you a signal," I said cryptically.

"Oh... okay."

"Blow me a super, Jake."

He turned the joint so the burner sat precariously close to his tongue and hunched down to meet my lips with his. I inhaled cautiously at first and then deeply when I noticed the noxious edge of the smoke was gone now. My head swam, and my ears rang.

"Do it again, but this time, just pass the smoke," I instructed.

He pulled a cloud into his mouth and lowered his head to mine, passing the cloud over my tongue. It burned a trail down my throat, and my nipples hardened at the proximity of his lips. Somewhere between my legs, my dormant pussy stirred to life and started screaming at me to make a move.

"Jake," I wheezed, expelling the smoke from my lungs.

"Yeah?"

"Signal."

"Fuck," he groaned as the realization of my word sunk in. His mouth swiped against mine in a tentative kiss. I parted my lips and ran my tongue over his until I felt his mouth open and the kiss deepen. An embarrassing moan tore through me, and he pulled away, a frown creasing across his forehead.

"You're high."

"You're sexy." I attacked him, wrapping my arms around his neck and forcing him to lift me up his body. My thighs clung to his hips, and I kissed up his neck.

"Fuck," he groaned and rubbed my back. I felt him harden between my thighs, and I moaned again. "I want you so much, Bells."

My lust suddenly transformed into raw panic.

_Want me like what? _

"Fuck me, Bella, I want you," he repeated, bucking into my hips.

"No!" I squirmed and pushed him away with the heel of my palm.

"Wait, Bells. I didn't mean it like that."

"Let go of me!"

"I didn't mean to say 'fuck me' as in I wanted you to... I mean, I do want you to, but not like this."

"No." I wrenched myself away from his kiss and struggled to get back down on the ground.

"Bells? Talk to me, okay? What did I do wrong?" He let go of me and pleaded with his eyes, looking much like a dejected puppy.

"Nothing, okay? It's me, Jake. I'm all kinds of fucked up. I can't just make-out like a normal girl without thinking about some terrible shit."

"Talk to me about it, then."

"No. I'm no good for you, Jake. That kiss was epic dumb of me."

"Wait!"

But I didn't. For the second time in two days, I ran away from a sex-god.

Fate had teased me with the prospect of happiness, and I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

**Author's Note: OMG, I'm so excited about the positive response I've gotten thus far. Um, more please?**


	3. The Oldest Profession

**Author's note: This chapter is a little beta light, as the usual team of miscreants who make me a better woman were MIA tonight and I was itching to post. Thanks to wordslinger and HexPixie for helping me out! Also, big love to ****IndieFicPimp** for pimping this fic, even though it's just began. WARNING: Potentially disturbing theme in this chapter involving abuse. Please note that I will never write rape, statutory or otherwise, in detail.

Facebook Status: Engaging in Buttsecks.

Fuck prostitution, bribery was the oldest profession.

Gmail was taunting me. It was difficult to even think about writing the email I was about to compose, but my bank account had dwindled to a negative, which meant Mafia Joe would be coming to Forks to break my knees pretty soon if I didn't top off my overdraft. Yes, I was being dramatic and whatnot, but it seemed to be what I did best. Phil needed another email from me, one that would be sure to capture his attention.

New Chat: JBlack180 - Bells?

Fuck, I forgot to go "invisible." It was so weird; Jake and I chatted every day without fail, but now that we were in the same state, only twenty miles away from each other, I felt the need to hide. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I changed my status to 'Busy: Engaging in buttsecks.'

JBlack180: Don't be weird

SyliaPsDead: Don't be so anal.

JBlack180: We need to talk.

SyliaPsDead: About what?

JBlack180: About what happened at the beach.

SyliaPsDead: No.

JBlack180: Alright, anything else then. Your silence is deafening.

SyliaPsDead: We're chatting in lame song lyrics now?

JBlack180: James is soooo not lame!

SyliaPsDead: Do you think I should have used lube?

JBlack180: lmao, you mean for the buttsecks ur having?

SyliaPsDead: No. I mean all those times I let my stepfather fuck me.

JBlack180 has logged off

I stared at the screen in utter terror. At first, I felt nothing. Literally. It was like I was astral projecting, and I couldn't connect my mind with my body. I wiggled my toes, trying to stimulate some sort of sensory perception.

It worked. My hands and feet exploded into pins and needles and then went numb entirely. The sensation rose steadily throughout my extremities, until I was certain that my brain had gone numb too, like a tourniquet had been wrapped around my neck, stopping blood flow to my head.

The thought of it made my throat feel tight. I swallowed several times, but it was painful and my breathing was strained, like my airway was narrower than it should have been.

Suddenly, I became very aware that my respiration felt wrong. I sucked in some air, but my lungs didn't feel like they were inflating properly. My breathing quickened, offering barely a minuscule of relieve with each laboured gasp. I repeated the process several times until I was dizzy.

"Charlie," I whimpered, forgetting that he wasn't home.

What was happening to me? I felt like I was going to die.

"Help," I whispered to no one. Fuck, what could I do? Panic gripped me. I needed to call Jake, but he was the one person in the world I couldn't call now.

What the fuck does one do when one can't breathe? Didn't I learn this kind of thing in my first aid training? I grabbed a mirror and used it to try to peer down my throat, searching for an obstruction. Since nothing was there, and it occurred to me that it would be impossible to perform CPR on myself, I did the next logical thing.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I can't breathe," I gasped.

"Ma'am, were you in an accident."

"No."

"Do you have any allergies that you are aware of?"

I shook my head, but then remembered that the woman on the phone couldn't see me. "I- I'm not sure. Maybe I'm having an anaphylactic reaction to something. Please help me?"

"I've already dispatched an ambulance to your location."

"How do you know where I am?" I was astonished.

"All calls are traced."

"Oh."

"Ms. Swan? What's your first name?"

"Bella," I whispered.

"Bella, have you taken any illegal substances today?"

"No!" _Um, that was last night. _

"What were you doing when you first noticed that you were having trouble breathing?" Her voice was sympathetic. It made me want to go all fetal.

"Chatting online with a friend."

"Did something happen to upset you?"

"Kinda..." I admitted. I could see where she was going with this line of questioning, and once again, I felt like a douche.

"Bella, have you ever had a panic attack before?"

Not really, but I was aware of the symptoms. The more I thought about hyperventilation, of course, the more I noticed that I had been breathing just fine all along. Unless it really was possible to die from embarrassment, I was pretty sure I'd live.

"Is it too late to call off the ambulance?" I asked sheepishly.

"Yes, honey. You're gonna have to stay put."

_I'm such an asshole. _

-({})-

I've never been the kind of girl who found older men sexy (despite what my therapist would insist), however Dr. Cullen was the sexiest piece of Mougar meat I'd ever seen. Honestly, when he took my pulse, I nearly creamed my panties.

"Your heart rate is a little fast. Are you nervous?"

"Yeah...a little."

He smiled reassuringly. "Bella, you had a panic attack. The Ativan in your IV should already alleviating your stress. After I get your bloodwork back, I'm certain I'll be able to discharge you."

My panties soaked even more at the mention of the word "discharge." I smiled, swaying slightly on the exam table, and tried to let my hospital gown fall down my shoulder in an alluring manner. "You're really hot," I stammered.

"Thank you, Ms. Swan. I should warn you of some of the side effects of-"

"You're Sex-hair's father!" I screamed.

"Pardon me?"

"Sex-hair! You know, Abercrombie swagger, bronze fuck-me hair and gorgeous as all fuck...what's his name?"

Dr. Cullen appeared positively flummoxed, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "Er...Emmett?"

"Edward," Sex-hair corrected, smirking at me from the doorway.

Dr. Cullen turned away from me, and deposited his penlight into his coat pocket. "Son, what are you doing here?"

"I saw the ambulance pass by the Swan house and I was worried," he explained, looking at me with genuine concern, not just morbid curiosity.

"Who let you into the ER intake?"

"A nurse," he shrugged.

"Which nurse?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

Oh my God, he was such a slut!

"I didn't realize that you were friends with Bella."

"Yeah, well...we bumped into each other once."

My mouth went completely dry, and it occurred to me that I needed to say something profoundly perfect. However, what the fuck could I say to fix this situation? I mean, he heard me refer to him as "Sex-hair."

"They gave me Ativan," I explained, "and now I have discharge."

So much for second impressions...

-({})-

It was nearly dusk by the time I made it home. Somehow, in the tiny town of Forks, where your business is everyone's business, I managed to evade Charlie. Since his cruiser wasn't around, it was safe to assume that he remained blissfully unaware of my panic attack and ensuing hospital visit. Jake, on the other hand, was waiting for me on the front porch.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, fisting his pockets.

"I'm high on tranquilizers," I replied.

"What? Why?"

"Oh, so now you want to talk?"

"Hey," he complained, grabbing my wrist. "I tried to talk to you this morning..."

"But you bolted." There was a tremble in my voice that I couldn't control. I bit into my lower lip, concentrating on the dull pain that it created in the corner of my mouth. Jake's hand tightened around mine.

"Why did you say that...about your stepfather?"

"I dunno, because I'm an asshole?"

"Bells...you weren't serious, right?"

My eyes burned. I looked up at the porch light and imagined utter ridiculous shit, like midgets salad tossing and stuff, to try to keep myself from crying. My mouth contorted into a wide grin, cracking the dry corners of my lips. "What if I was?" I giggled.

Jake's hands went limp, and then he dropped my wrists altogether. My hands fell lifelessly at my sides. "So, this is a joke," he said, walking away. "Another plea for attention. Well, shit, Bella...you got my attention. I've decided I don't like you much anymore."

"I was totally serious." I couldn't stop laughing. Foxes were now invading my thoughts, little animated foxes dressed up as stewardesses. They were serving martinis to squirrels. "He's been coming into my room since I was fifteen." Tears rolled down my cheeks, and the stupid grin would not leave me.

"Go to hell, Bella."

"Don't go, Jake...please..." I gasped, desperately trying to inflate my lungs with air. "I've never told this to anyone before." Panic. It seeped into every cell of my body. The words I swore I'd never utter aloud were now released into the universe and I couldn't take them back. "I don't want you to hate me...I know I'm a freak, but you're the only real friend I've ever had."

He froze, the tense muscles of his back seems to ripple with further tension as he processed my words. His arm bent at his side, his hand clenching into a fist. "Bells?" he whispered, sounding childlike and desperately fearful. "This didn't happen to you. Please tell me this didn't happen?"

Jake's terror was what did me in. I had always managed to justify my arrangement with Phil, knowing in my core that what I was doing with him was too disgusting for words. Seeing Jake come apart knocked my feet from under me. I fell to my knees and howled out a terrible cry. The secrets I should never have spoken were now the only thing Jake would ever think about when he looked at me.

I succumbed to this terrible emotion, this despondent humiliation that plagued me, and allowed Jacob to witness my breakdown. He pulled me into his arms and whispered words that held no meaning, but still they soothed me, and I cried against his chest. I'd lived in denial for so long.

Finally, I had allowed the floodgates open. I drowned.

**Author's Note: So, this was a little more angsty than I usually write. I hope it was still enjoyable! I was on vacation last week and couldn't reply to reviews very well, but I read and re-read every one! I'm highly disorganized and slightly insane so sometimes it takes me a while to reply to stuff. **

**BBS Readers: My Fandom Gives Back outtake will be posted as a separate story tomorrow. Add me to your author alert for the notification. I'll also tweet it. That outtake was one of the most messed-up thing I've ever written!**

**Fic Rec: Paper Heart by HezPixie. I've pimped it on the TwificPimps blog as well, and I had the honour of being beta'd by the lovely author for this chapter. Read it! You'll thank me, I promise.**

**Big inappropriate love!**


	4. Sirens

**Author's Note: Thank you to Hezpixie and Mac214 for that ass-rape of a beta. Dear Mac: I use Canadian spelling! I am a rebel dammit! And Hez included the following beta note: This is awkward. FIX IT BITCH! Ahem, I love you both. Thank you for making me a better writer. Special thank you to FL95 for making me a banner for this fic! Are you reading her stuff? OMG you should be.**

Facebook Status: Gonna cut a bitch

My eyes were glued to my iPhone as I scuttled down the stairs. The stupid Tweetdeck app was being a little bitch, refusing to update.

"Shit and fuck and stuff," I muttered lazily, unable to muster enough emotion to formulate a proper curse. Well, it seemed Effexor was successful at achieving apathy in a teenage girl; someone should award Pfizer a fucking Nobel Prize in medicine for that shit.

_Thud!_ At the bottom of the stairs, I found myself flat on my ass. Somewhere above me hovered the arm of Charlie's sofa and a leg that jutted out hazardously.

"Fucking ow!" I yelped and punched the offending foot with a limp fist. "You legged me in the crotch!"

"Hey, that tickles." Jake complained, kicking the leg that hung awkwardly off the side of the couch.

"You're sleeping on my couch?"

"What are you doing?" he asked groggily.

"Tweeting you..." _Hm, I guess I could stop doing that._ "Dude, you didn't have to do that. You're way too huge to be sleeping on that tiny seventies throw-back of a sofa." Conversations were so difficult in real life. My generation had serious issues stringing more than 140 characters together.

Jake rubbed his eyes in confusion, his dark hair falling over his brow in messy strands. "It's fine," he said hoarsely.

I hated the way he was looking at me, like I was pathetic — a freak show. Jake never treated me like a carnie before. This inequity between us was new and terrible to me. Before he knew the truth about Phil, Jake always had me up on a pedestal, and sure, over the years, the pedestal had gathered dust, but he was pretty clear about his feelings about me. Fuck, my legs started to tremble just remembering the other night at First Beach; the kiss, and the incredible feeling of Jake growing hard between my thighs.

It didn't matter. There was no way in hell he would ever want to touch me again. It was a shame, really, the way I wasted our first kiss by acting like an emo douchebag. If I had known that would be our only kiss, I would have taken the time to actually live in the moment and enjoy myself.

"People must have been freakishly small in the dark ages of fashion. It was likely due to malnutrition or some shit. You know, from all the liberal drug use and unprotected fucking. Syphilis and LSD—" Jake's hand covered my face, effectively silencing my sad little rant.

"Bells, could I get some coffee at least before you start waxing retarded?"

He removed his hand from my lips, and I said, "Avoid the clap."

"Oh my god, you're such a freak!" His smile cut off and his eyes widened, the last word of his sentence reverberating through the tiny house. The room had morphed into a mausoleum. "I mean, not that you're really a freak or anything…just that you're saying silly things."

"Jake," I whispered. "Could you leave please?"

"Honey, no. You totally misunderstood me." He tried to pull me into his lap, but I made my body rigid.

"Yeah, see, I don't think I did." There was no fucking way I was going to let myself cry. "Can't you just forget what I told you, Jake?" I took a deep breath and cringed, "...about Phil."

"I really think you need to talk to someone about this."

"No! Therapy is a load of bullshit. You think confessing your secrets cures you of your demons? It doesn't. It unleashes them. Repression is the healthiest way to deal with unpleasant shit; repression and inappropriate humour." To emphasize my point I added, "Wanna do it?"

"Huh?"

"I just offered you my sweet, nubile little ass."

"Um...what?"

Oh my god, he was practically brain-dead. "Fuck," I clarified. "Would you like to _fuck_?"

"Stop it," he grumbled and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, the muscles of his very naked torso rolling under his skin. "You're not funny."

"I think I'm fucking hilarious. Also? I'm tired of this bullshit. I just want to be a normal girl and do something a wonderfully normal girl would do, like fuck her boyfriend." _Oh shit!_ "I mean, not that you _are_...my boyfriend. Just, you know, you're a guy and..." _Fight or flight, fight or flight?_

An obnoxious grin spread over Jacob's stupid face. "You want me to be your boyfriend?"

"Dude, I just asked you to fuck me, and that's what you're choosing to smile about?"

He jumped off the couch and tackled me, pushing me down into the carpet. Gasping, I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back. I was about to yell "say uncle," but Jake must have thought I was pulling him toward me. He groaned and buried his head against my neck, ignoring my hair pulling altogether. At first, he did nothing but pant hot little breaths against my skin.

"Jake," I whispered. "I know you're probably freaked out by what I told you and stuff...but I just want things to be normal between us." My voice trembled. He lowered his face to my shoulder and nuzzled against me, pulling my shirt down slightly by the collar. The back of my shoulder had a dimple that I always hated. A tiny sigh seemed to rumble out of him as he continued to breathe against my skin, his mouth hovering just above the hated shoulder dimple. Still he didn't kiss me. "I know you don't think of me that way, but do you think you can try? I mean, I don't want to beg or anything, I just...fuck."

"You think I don't find you sexy?" Jake stopped cuddling against me and looked at me with wide, astonished eyes.

"I know you don't."

"You know nothing," he growled. A shadow fell upon me, and it took me a minute to realize his face was connected with mine. His mouth was hot and wet against my own. Inexplicably, he tasted like black liquorice and tobacco. Sucking his lower lip into my mouth, I wrapped my arms around his neck and moaned quietly against him. He echoed my moan and rubbed the small of my back.

He gasped in a breath and held it, as if he was trying to concentrate on staying in control. Fuck, that was hot...and fuck if I didn't whimper when he pulled away from my mouth, keeping my face cupped in his hands. "I adore you, Bella." The words sounded like prayer.

"Jake, you don't have to say that...but thank you." I hugged him, relishing in the heat of his body and the way his strong muscles felt under my palms. "I gotta go."

"What? Where?"

"Calm down, Cassanova. I'm just registering for school."

"Oh, alright." He stood awkwardly, grabbing a pillow off the couch and holding it over his stomach.

"You're hiding a boner, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Yeah...like I said, you're such an asshole for thinking I didn't want you."

-({})-

The silver fucking Volvo was behind me again!_ Edward_. Oh, god, I shouldn't have been so excited to see his car, considering the fact I just swapped spit with Jake, but I couldn't help myself. Something about that boy just seemed to call out to me...like a siren song... like the mermaids in T.S. Eliot's poem "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock."

He sang to me.

That was really poetic and shit.

My knees turned to mush as I pulled into the parking lot of Forks High. What a lucky coincidence this was! Most other students would have registered for school already, but Edward must have been away or something this summer.

As soon as I wrenched the gearshift into park, I grabbed my notepad from the glove box of the Dodge-Beast.

Quickly, I scribbled out a few lines of poetry, becoming obsessed with the image of the sea. _I have heard the mermaids singing each to each. _As long as I italicized my reference to Prufrock, bogarting Eliot's stellar line was only an allusion, not plagiarism.

Edward and a little dark-haired girl emerged from the Volvo, and my stomach dropped. Was she his girlfriend? He noticed me sitting frozen in the front seat and waved.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself, crawling over the parking brake and kicking open the passenger door.

"What was that," Edward asked with a silly grin. Actually, he looked kind of distracted.

"Oh, my door is stuck so..."

"Oh my God, Edward, go inside, and get this the fuck over with!" That little dark-haired cunt hissed, causing his beautiful face to pucker in annoyance.

"This is my sister, Alice." _Just his sister!_

"Hi, Alice."

"Yeah, don't bother." She had the audacity to roll her eyes at me.

"I'll be back...Bella, do you want me to pick-up a registration package for you too?" Edward's voice was apologetic.

"Um...sure. Thanks!" I beamed. He turned away, and I tried to discern the shape of his ass beneath his charcoal pants as he swaggered toward the school.

"What the fuck are you wearing," the perfectly-coifed demon snapped, wrenching me away from my fantasy.

"Um…jeans." I looked down at myself to make sure I hadn't accidentally dressed myself in excrement. I mean, she held her nose in such a way as to suggest that I quite literally looked like shit.

"Those aren't jeans."

"Yeah-huh!" Denim equals jeans, yes?

"Who makes them?" She wasn't looking at me anymore as she asked this. She was clacking away at the screen of her iPhone 4. Okay, I couldn't give a shit about her stupid expensive clothes or malevolently shiny hair, but fuck if I wouldn't give Jake's left nut for that phone. Well, maybe not his nut since I had certain designs on that general area, but at least a finger or something.

"Um, who makes my jeans?" She nodded distractedly. "Well, they're from Old Navy, so they were probably made by a ten-year-old in China."

"That's disgusting." She glared at me, and I felt ashamed of my comment.

"Look, it was a bad joke—"

"Old Navy! No wonder you look like utter shit."

"Oh my god, you really are an evil bitch!"

She dropped her phone into her colourful purse and artfully brushed her glossy hair behind her ears. Where Edward was all strong angles and messy hair, Alice looked like her face had been sharpened with a knife, like I could cut myself on her the eerie smile that stretched across it."You just committed social suicide."  
The maniacal laughter that poured out of me served to freak her out very well. She ran toward the school, while I sat beside my truck on the curb, staring at my scars.

_I have heard the mermaids singing each to each. I do not think they sing to me._

**Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. I need constant feedback or I'll wither and die...I really do want an iPhone 4 but I'll have to settle for the vibrations your reviews leave on my old iPhone. Please review me?**

**ALSO: I'm writing a collab with the world famous author, Mac214 (in which I totally use American spelling). The first chapter is posted on both of our profiles but we'll be moving it to our collab profile, MacFlan (aren't we clever?). Sweet Tooth incorporates our two favourite things: porn and cake. **

**Finally: I've received four requests this week to use "Shit and fuck and stuff" from various fanfic authors. Yes! Always feel free to use anything I write, as long as you credit "BellaFlan." Also, please let me know that you've used it!**


	5. That's Not a Glass Slipper

**A/N: Beta'd by Mac214. I'm embarrassed by the grammar fail this was before she fixed it. Thank Jeebus for super betas like mac and jkane180! This chapter is dedicated to Browns because I was a douche and forgot she was reading it. Love me anyway? **

Facebook Status: Who the fuck do I think I am, Cinderella?

"Do you think it's too random to take up smoking as, like, a conscious choice." I was speaking much too fast, but I was worried that if I didn't stop, something stupid would happen. Honestly, I was not equipped to have a conversation with this boy. He was too fucking perfect. "Really stupid idea, actually. With my luck, I'd lose a lung to cancer by the time I'm twenty. I'm pretty sure my sole reason for existing is to be a cautionary tale. Do you ever feel that way?"

Sex-Hair smiled his crooked smile, and the light from the midday sun sparkled off his teeth like God was shining a fucking spotlight on him. He was one of those beautiful people I was supposed to despise on principle for being perfect when I couldn't be. I didn't despise him at all. I kinda wanted to lick him a little...well, a lot.

"What did my sister say to upset you?" he asked simply and plucked a piece of lint off my t-shirt, like touching me was the most natural thing in the world. He rubbed the lint onto his pant leg, only a couple of inches away from the seam of his crotch. What a lucky fucking piece of lint.

"Oh, nothing really. I couldn't possibly take her seriously...she's too, er, short."

My breath caught in my throat. It occurred to me I was still staring south of his equator, and so help me, I could make out the outline of his dick through the denim. _I wonder if he's a grower or a shower... _I dragged my eyes to his face, hopefully before he could realize that I was a depraved hornball.

Edward's face broke out into a wicked grin, and I noticed that his teeth weren't actually that perfect at all. If anything, his incisors were a little too pointy, and there was a sesame seed or something lodged between his front teeth. Yeah, unfortunately, this only made me lust after him harder, and because I was a sick fucking freak, I wanted to dislodge it with my tongue.

"I'll protect you from her wrath." He passed me the registration forms, looking down at my hands when our fingers brushed. "Wow," he said. "A spark. Did you feel it?"

"I have a boyfriend," I blurted like an asshole and thrust the forms back at him for no reason I could think of.

"Electrostatic phenomenon."

"Guh?" My fingers were burning from his touch. Come to think of it, my loins were on fire too. I never really noticed my loins before Edward Cullen touched my hand. I think they were located somewhere in my clit. Yep, my clit was totally twitching, trying to call attention to herself. "Over here," she screamed. "I want to feel the spark too!"

"Static shocks never happen in Forks; it's too damn wet. You must be some sort of demon, Isabella Swan."

"Maybe you're the demon," I challenged.

"Oh, most definitely. I'm having very evil thoughts at the moment. Thoughts that I'm pretty sure your boyfriend wouldn't appreciate." He dragged his finger across my cheekbone, and I swear, I nearly came. I could feel his caress on my face as if his finger was trained on my clit. Oh, fuck, I wanted to take his hand off my stupid face and stuff it in my panties.

"Why?" I squeaked. Fuck, why was I genetically predisposed to being an asshole? Why couldn't I be one of those blessed suave bitches that I hated so much? This whole fucking conversation was positively surreal. Also, I was in love with Jake, and I refused to be a douche by cheating on the only good thing I'd ever known. Despite the voice of reason firmly demanding I back away from the object of my almost violent lust, I found my head tilting forward. Kissing Edward was something I felt compelled to do. Shit, I had no other way of explaining it. His mouth drew me forward like an object pulled toward the singularity of a black hole. My entire universe spun on its axis.

"Bella...I'm a complete schmuck." He turned his face away from me just short of our lips grazing, and I died a little. "I promised my dad I'd leave you alone."

"Okay," I said lamely and covered my mouth with my hand. Everything was still spinning a little, and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, my body a live wire fed with adrenaline and despair.

"I don't think we should be friends," he added, hammering a stake through the heart. I swallowed thickly and inhaled a strangled gasp, willing myself not to show any emotion. Only seconds ago he was about to kiss me. I was positively reeling.

"Yeah, no worries." There was no way I'd allow myself to cry in front of this asshole. A tear totally slid down my cheek though. "I'm wearing the wrong jeans and stuff. Alice already read me the riot act on my crimes against fashion."

"Oh, god, Bella-no! That's not it at all. Look, will you just trust me when I say I'm not the right kind of friend for you?"

I hardly knew this guy. How dare he have this kind of power over my emotions? "You egotistical prick!" I spat. "I don't give a fuck about you...and yeah, I totally don't want to be friends with you or whatever." With clumsy fingers, I dug through my backpack for the keys to my truck.

"Wait, Bella. Just hold on a sec so I can explain myself-"

"Fuck you!"

I ran away, and I'm pretty sure he didn't try to follow me. In my haste, I dropped my registration papers. It was totally an accident. _Totally_.

"Bella, wait! Don't you need this?"

_Nope, not turning around._ _I could find another way to register for school_, I reasoned with myself as I heard him collect the papers I dropped.

Honestly, I just wanted Edward to disappear and leave me alone.

Who the fuck was I kidding?

-({})-

"I meant to go shopping, Bells." Charlie frowned at the Pop-Tarts on my plate. He sighed heavily and opened the fridge.

"C'mon, Dad, you can keep looking, but that won't magically put food in there. It's fine. I'm totally used to fending for myself. Can I have a beer?"

"No."

I snorted out my disgust, shooting pastry out of my nose and across the table. "Fucking, ow!" Instantly, my hand shot up to rub the bridge of my nose. Only I could manage to injure myself while eating. "So there're no vegetables in the house but we have a case of Bud?"

"Two cases. Gotta have my priorities straight." He tilted his head back and swallowed the rest of his beer. "I'm going to the Lodge for a bit."

"Cool." Would it be needy of me to call Jake? The evening yawned before me like a gaping chasm. Hm, come to think of it, my gaping chasm was feeling kinda needy too.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?" I could totally tweet him...maybe that wouldn't be as needy as calling. Sex probably wasn't a good idea, but that didn't mean he couldn't make me come a little, did it? I could lure him over with beer and pussy. What kind of guy would say no to an offer like that? I was pretty sure a twitter poll would reveal a pussy-plus-beer-offer would make me a super cool and awesome girlfriend as opposed to a needy twat.

"I've counted the beer bottles, so don't be scheming to get drunk."

"Well, fuck."

"Oh, and by the way, you and Jake aren't fooling anyone."

My entire body jerked in surprise, jostling my plate on the table. Alright, _that_ got my attention. "What do you mean?" I blinked rapidly, feigning innocence.

"Billy and I know you're sweethearts."

I snorted again. _Sweethearts? _

"Please stop horking Pop-Tarts at me. Yeah, we figured it out. Billy said Jake won't stop yammering about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smirked. "I told him you get all moon-eyed every time I mention anything to do with La Push or fishing or-"

"Oh my god, you didn't! What if Billy tells that to Jake? Dad, don't you know anything? He's going to have the upper hand now!" So I totally sounded like George Costanza, but I had no hand! There was no way I could ask him to come back tonight without losing face.

"Calm down, Bella. The kid is crazy about you. Billy says-"

"I don't want to hear it."

-({})-

"_Thirty-two bottles of beer on the wall. Thirty-two bottles of beer,_" I sang. My pitch was shit, but it didn't really matter since I was naked and drunk and alone. The bed squeaked as I shifted on the mattress and pressed my fingers roughly against my clit. I closed my eyes and picked up the pace, imagining Jake's heavy body rocking on top of me. Moaning, I slid a finger inside myself and pumped it rhythmically, concentrating on summoning to mind the way his muscles rippled as he moved, but I couldn't quite hold on to the image. Jake was blurry around the edges, and I shuddered, anticipating the terror that was sure to follow - the same terror that had robbed me of my orgasm for the last year. I couldn't come when the object of my wank sessions would always be replaced by the face of my nightmares.

But that didn't happen this time: Jake morphed into Edward. I cried out and pushed another finger inside of my pussy, imagining his dick throbbing inside of me.

"Do you feel the spark?" imaginary Edward panted into my ear.

"Fuck, yeah! Oh, fuck, I feel it," I yelled, bearing down on my hand. He groaned out the sexiest sound, which I echoed.

"I just can't stay away from you, Bella. I'm too selfish...I need you."

"Then don't," I pleaded, feeling exhilarated and strangely, a little frightened as a blissful heat spread across my pelvis.

"You're beautiful," dream Edward whispered reverently while releasing into me. In that moment, I even felt kind of pretty. I added a third finger and came around my hand imagining it was Edward's cock.

Well, fuck. It was a perfect fit.

**A/N: I owe a fuckton of review replies. I read everything and appreciate every kind word, but I'm a scatterbrain with too much shit going on. If you're reading and not reviewing, I love you anyway! Now that BBS is complete, I hope to update this fic twice a week and catch up on all replies. **

**Twificpimps has moved! We have a super-awesome site that I hope everyone will check out: www(.)twificpimps(.)com - check out our podcasts for some fic recs and fabulous guests.**

**My iPhone is now in my pocket. You totally should know what that means ;P**


	6. Breaking Wave

**Author's Note: This chapter was beta'd by my Trifuckta girl jkane180. Mac214 was busy with an readalong of her awesome fic **_**Coming Through the Rye**_** tonight and wordslinger is moving across the country! Twisurfgrl helped me out with a pre-read and did a wonderful job! **

**This chapter is dedicated to Claireoth because it's her birthday :)**

Facebook Status: OMG I totally drowned again!

Fuck Billy Black and the horse he rode in on. Well, maybe not the horse. There was no reason for the horse to take it up the ass.

I was slightly hung-over. Actually, judging by the way I was swaying on my feet as I stood on the rickety old porch of the Black house, I suspected I was still a fairly blotto. The door screamed on its hinges as Billy opened it. His eyes were squinted in at the corners, his expression somewhat weary.

"Uh, hey. I need to see Jake," I said, twitching uncomfortably. Billy made no move to let me in. "You could use some WD40 for those hinges," I added.

"Jake's sleeping." His voice was kind of gruff. Who the fuck pissed in his cornflakes?

"Okay..." I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

"We should talk though, Bella."

"Why?" I asked rudely. I didn't meant to be a jerk, but I had no idea what in the world Billy and I would ever _need _to discuss.

"Come in," he finally invited, rolling his wheelchair back away from the doorframe.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll just wait in my truck."

"Don't be silly."

"Nah." It appeared we were at some sort of ridiculous impasse. We stared at each other for a minute until I couldn't stand looking at his weathered, leathery skin any longer. "Yeah, I'm gonna go. Can you tell Jake I'm at the beach when he wakes up?"

"Wait, Bella. What do you know about imprinting?"

My phone was beeping. Did Jake try to text me last night while I was flicking the bean to Sex-Hair? Shame instantly filled me.

"Wha?" I dug my phone out of my pocket just as Billy rolled himself forward onto the old covered porch, the wood squeaking beneath his wheels.

"Did Jacob tell you about imprinting?"

"Er... like with carbon paper?" All that I could think of was taking an impression of a credit card for a receipt, but imprinting would be kind of outdated. "Do merchants still imprint credit cards?"

"I don't think you understand me. Animals imprint in the wild."

"Like ducks?"

"No."

"Cats?"

"Wolves, Bella."

"No, I don't think wolves imprint." Who would give a wolf a credit card? Oh my god, my inner monologue was fucking hilarious! Too bad I didn't suffer from a multiple personality disorder; only I was privy to this fuckery.

Billy opened his mouth to keep yammering, and I realized I needed to change the subject, lest I be regaled with another stupid legend. "Did I leave my diaphragm in your bathroom?"

"I'll let Jacob know you're at the beach," he said curtly, shutting the door.

-({})-

I couldn't quite breathe right. There were three messages on my phone:

E.A. Cullen - Ohai pretty girl. You left your registration package when you bolted yesterday. jsyk, I'm a complete dick.

Phil Dwyer - Isabella, please call me. I miss you.

E.A. Cullen - BTW I didn't mean that I didn't want to be friends, only that you were better off not being friends with me. Sorry for the cryptic message.

-({})-

It was way too cold for late August by the ocean, and the waves were positively violent. I really wanted to pull my iPhone out of my raincoat to check my messages, but I was worried about it getting wet. The windblown water was nearly torrential. I chewed on a chunk of hair - an annoying latent childhood habit - and sucked on the ice that clung to the strands in shards. My frozen hair made me notice how much my teeth were chattering, the wind and ice water burning my skin as the elements assaulted me. This was the very epitome of a pathetic fallacy. I wrapped my arms around my chest in a vain attempt to hold myself together.

Christ, I was an asshole for sitting in an out -of-season ice storm, waiting for Jake to drag his sorry butt out of bed. It would be in my best interest to go home and indulge in a hot bath and a lazy day, but I was trying to avoid Charlie's wrath. Dude was going to ground me for drinking his crap beer. Couldn't help jacking his Bud though; I needed the anaesthesia only imbibing copious amounts of alcohol could offer. I was a pathetic void of need, which, I guessed was only slightly better than being a hackneyed vacuum of want.

Even though it was Edward whom I couldn't shake out of my mind, I found myself needing Jake. Yeah, that made me a crappy person, but the way I figured it, I had amassed enough punishment in this lifetime to avoid a little bad karma. I loved Jake. I needed Jake. I was probably using Jake because, despite all of my reasoning, I wanted Edward; a boy I didn't even know. Fuck, my stomach exploded into glorious butterflies as I thought back to my drunken masturbatory fantasy of him, naked and hot and buried deep within me.

I wanted him. Yep, I was indeed a vacuum of stupid want after all. An empty vacuum bag that I wanted him to stuff with... well, his cock. I wanted his cock in my cunt. There was no metaphor for this desire. It was base and primal. I wanted him to fuck me.

The comfort I sought wasn't purely sexual though. I yearned for Jake to hold me. I needed to be soothed and cherished. I needed to feel loved, which was utterly pathetic, but I no longer cared. I was prepared to totally prostrate myself before him, and beg for him to love me fully, body and spirit. Despite my ridiculous bravado, I felt very small and terrified. Lonely.

Bitter bile pooled in my saliva as a memory tried to assault me. Inevitably sex always made me think about... fuck. I wasn't sure how Jake would ever be able to touch me knowing about what happened. Despite what he said, that shit with Phil had to weird him out. I mean, I did my best to block everything out, to forget about what happened. It just wasn't possible. Phil had taken up residence in the darkness behind my eyelids; he stalked me in my dreams like an over-sexed Freddy Krueger.

_Just don't fucking think about him, slut. _But_ fuck_, it was impossible to avoid memories, and my usual tools of repression didn't seem to work anymore.

I scraped the ice crystals from my hair, only to watch them form again in a matter of seconds. My entire existence was a complete exercise in futility.

I grappled in my pocket for my phone, but it didn't matter; my fingers were too cold to negotiate my email app. I should have just waited for Jake inside the house, like Billy had offered, but couldn't fathom the awkwardness and idiocy of his conversation. Seriously! If I had to listen to him go on about another Quileute legend I swore I'd stab my eardrums with a pencil to spare myself the agony.

_Fuck this_, I swore to myself, _I'm going to wake him up_. I grabbed my bag and kicked the wet sand out of my Converse, shaking off my hair like a wet dog.

"Hey, Swan."

"Leave me alone," I replied automatically, not even bothering to see who was calling my surname. I didn't feel like making small talk. Meh, who was I kidding? I turned my head and saw Jake's idiot friend Embry waving like an asshole.

"That's cold." He pretended to sound hurt, and I glowered as he jogged down the beach, looking tastier than an asswipe such as himself had any business looking. Honestly, if I didn't get laid sometime soon, I'd turn into a complete sexual predator. Did all girls my age lust this hard after every warm body, or was I really the freak Phil accused me of being?

My stomach lurched into my chest. An unwelcomed memory invaded my mind, and I couldn't will it away.

"I'm going to vomit," I explained.

"Woah, what's wrong with you?" He took off his coat and wrapped it over my shoulders like a blanket. "You're hot."

"Thanks. You're pretty okay too." The shore was moving. I tried to steel myself for an emotional breakdown of some sort, focusing my vision on the shore. Fruitlessly, I sought out a non-moving object, but everything in my field of vision seemed to be lurching and retreating like the crested swells of the ocean.

"I think you have a fever, Bella. Can you walk to your car?"

"Of course I can, asshole," I snapped and promptly fainted.

-({})-

A scream tore through my throat, and I gurgled as an icy crest of water washed over me. I thrashed, lying prone in the water. Oh, god, I couldn't swim.

I was drowning.

I was totally going to die.

I broke through the surface gasping for air, and my chest burned as my lungs inflated.

"Shh, Bells, calm down." I could hear Jake's voice not too far away, but I was too cold to move.

I coughed and sputtered, grasping weakly for his arm.

"I'm drowning," I shrieked. "I can't swim."

"Bella, you're in the bathtub. Calm down."

"I'm in the ocean," I insisted. I remembered seeing it advance on me before I blacked out.

"No, you're in my bathroom. Open your eyes and look."

I saw a faded green tub surround and brown, daisy-covered shower curtains. I saw Jake's face looking down on me. I also saw my nipples.

"Your shower curtains are ugly," I said, completely mortified. I was too cold and distraught to ask obvious questions, such as why I was naked in a bathtub. I tried to sit up, but Jake pushed me back into the water. "I'm cold," I sobbed.

"You're burning up, Bells. Dr. Cullen said we needed to give you a cold bath to get your fever down."

"I'm naked," I wailed.

He put his hand on my cheek and did his best not to look at my tits. He totally failed though.

"What?" Mortified tears burned my eyes.

"I... it's just..."

"Motherfucking what?" I was losing patience.

"You're just so beautiful, Bella," he sighed and lowered his eyes to his lap. "I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life."

Billy's voice came back to me then. _"What do you know about imprinting?"_

**Author's Note: Yes, this really is an Edward/Bella story, and yes, it really is all human.**

**I crave reviews. I really do! I know it's not always possible to review if you're reading on your phone but if you're enjoying this fic and have access to the review button, please send me a phone buzz! Each chapter of this fic will have a dedication. Best review of this chappie will receive the next dedication. **

**ATTN authors: Don't forget to hump your readers via the twificpimps website. There's a link to our podcast blog on my profile. We hump our readers every Wednesday. **


	7. In Jeopardy

**I want to send a baskets of porn to my betas jkane180 and mac214. Also, big buttercream cocks to browns and wordslinger for pre-reading me. **

**It was my birthday on Monday and a shitload of all y'all got together to make an awesome birthday site for me. I'm going to link it on my profile. If you're over eighteen, check it out! This chapter is dedicated to my friends Jess, Candace, Kari and Althea for putting together that amazing blog! Also, a co-dedication to ****SnowyHedwig**** for my fave review of chapter seven. Mwah!**

Facebook Status: diengefcgggjfk;ljerlogfj

_I really, really like Dr. Cullen, like, so much! I mean, who the fuck gives away Percocet for free? A fucking guardian angel, that's who! I feel so good right now. I don't even care that Jake is looking at me like I'm some sort of mental reject. I don't care at all... actually, I'd like to suck his dick. Oh my god, I could totally be sucking his dick right now! Why am I not sucking his dick?_

In point of fact, upon closer inspection I noticed I didn't feel as good as I thought. My back was itchy, and I was full of nervous energy compounded with unfocused lust.

"Jake," I slurred, writhing like a bitch in heat in his ridiculously small bed. "Oooh, why is it so fucking hot in here?" Beads of sweat slid down my brow and into my eyes, blurring my vision and stinging me. My sweat was salty.

Ocean water was leaking out of my pores.

Not really. Tears were made of salt. That was kind of ridiculous when I thought about it... the way the body secretes salt around delicate mucus membranes.

_Pouring salt over wounds. _

"Jake," I repeated, squinting through the fog. The way he was looking at me... he was raw need. It was wrong for him to love me. He was sweet and soft and apt to cut himself on my sharp, unpolished edges.

What if I hurt Jake? Could I live with myself? I needed him so fucking much, though. I'd be cutting his heart open while simultaneously crying salt into his wounds.

"Stay under the covers, Bella. Your fever's breaking." He tried to bunch an itchy old blanket around me, and I swatted at his hands.

"Stop it! I have a question." I really liked the way his cheek bones jutted out of his face. I wished I had cheek bones too, but alas, my entire face was still covered in what Renee liked to call 'baby fat'.

"What's your question?"

"I'm going to suck your cock. Take your pants off."

But Jacob morphed into a shadow, and the room filled with steam from an unseen source. Also, suddenly and without warning, Alex Trebek materialized in front of me.

"I'm sorry, Bella," Alex Trebek crooned. "You didn't answer Jacob in the form of a question."

_Um, what the fuck?_

Why was Alex Trebek in the room? "Why's Alex Trebek in the room?"

"Because it's time for Double Jeopardy, Bella. Do you know how to play?"

Wow, this was way trippy. I swear to Microsoft that Alex stood in front of me, plain as day, that Jake's stuffy closet of a bedroom suddenly morphed into a massive sound stage. Spotlights poured down from the ceiling, shining hotly and brightly against the top of my head. The searing heat from what could only be a ten billion watt bulb was burning the skin off my forehead.

"Cool, but could you dim the lights?"

"Bella?" I could hear Jake's voice in the distance, but I wasn't paying attention. I had a game to play.

Alex Trebek no longer had a mustache, which just irked me to no end. A true quiz show host should be mustachioed. Nevertheless...

"Yeah, I know how to play." A canned soundtrack filled the room with staggered cheering and an overwhelming applause. I bowed deeply in response. This was so exciting! I fucking loved game shows.

"Pick a category, Bella," Alex's conspicuously naked mouth demanded.

I squinted but only could see one topic.

"I'll take 'My Stepfather Fucked Me' for $1,000, Alex."

The studio audience erupted into boos and hisses.

"No, no, no!" I screamed. "Shut the fuck up!"

All sound cut off. The silence was so thick it echoed.

"Isabella?"

"Bella," I said automatically and turned my head, meeting a pair of emerald eyes I wasn't expecting. "Dr. Cullen?"

"Jacob, I'd like you to leave the room, please." His voice was even and urgent, all at once.

"I... Bella, do you want me to leave?"

"What happened to Jeopardy?" I asked softly.

"There's no TV in the room," Jacob replied, not to me but to Dr. Cullen.

"Yeah, I think you both should get the fuck out." I was feeling uncharacteristically snarky, and they were harshing my delirium. "I'd like some more Percs, though, from Sex-Hair's father."

"Who's Sex-Hair?"Jacob snapped.

I wanted my quiz show porn back.

"I need to get to the hospital, Bella. I'd like you to come with me," Dr. Cullen said carefully, smoothing down his dark blond hair as it threatened to misbehave as badly as his son's did. "Her fever is broken," he explained to Jake. "She's just a little confused."

"Um… yeah, no. I just want to go home." I chewed mercilessly at my lower lip in a way that could be described as thoughtful, but really, it was a disgusting compulsive tendency. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Talk about what?" His eyes made me think of Edward, and suddenly I wanted to cry for reasons I didn't understand. Even though I totally didn't mean to, I thought about Edward's mouth and the way the left side rose higher than the right when he smiled. Actually, he didn't smile - he smirked...no, that wasn't right, either. The corner of his lip formed a hook. and his face was the bait. His cock, the fishing rod... oops, the good doctor probably was waiting for me to speak, you know, since my mouth was already open.

"That shit you're gonna try to get me to talk about." I looked quickly at Jake, and thank fuck he remained stoic, uncomfortably so. _Don't speak,_ I attempted to communicate telepathically.

"What shit?"

"Don't use your Jedi mind tricks on me. I don't want to talk about the thing I don't want to talk about it. Get it? Not talking."

He sighed. "I'm not a bad guy, Bella. If you don't want to talk to me, there're other people, counsellors, available for you to chat with."

"No," I snapped.

"Alright." His voice was resigned. "I'm going to take you home."

"Wait," Jake interjected. "I'm coming with her."

"No, Jake. I want to be alone." Oh my god, I was such a bitch. The problem was, I was high as a kite and possibly lethally horny.

"Who's gonna take care of you , Bells? Charlie's at work."

"I can take care of myself!" I snarled. Jake raised his eyebrow incredulously. "I can," I insisted.

"I'll call Charlie," Jake said sadly. "You're in no condition to be by yourself."

"Tell him to pick up some more beer on the way home."

-({})-

Dr. Cullen ushered me to his shiny fucking Mercedes, holding my arm like a perfect gentleman. I nearly lost my footing in the overgrowth of Jake's front yard on the short walk from the door to the driveway.

"You need to talk to someone about this, Isabella," he said sternly, opening the passenger side door for me.

"Bella," I corrected harshly.

"Sorry… Bella. What you said in your delirium… it's based on real events." Dr. Cullen wasn't asking a question. He was drawing a conclusion – a correct one.

"Yes," I deadpanned. "Jeopardy is totally real. You should watch it. I bet you'd do well on the sciencey questions."

"I'm talking about your stepfather."

"Nope, I'm so fucking high it's not even funny. That was a complete fabrication... never happened." Briefly, I considered making a run for my truck, but I was pretty sure I'd fall on my face if I attempted it.

"Bella, you're not high, but I'm having trouble believing you. Why don't you try telling me the truth? I want to help you, but I can't do that if you're not honest with me."

"Okay, no disrespect, Dr. Cullen, but seriously?" I pounded my fist against the car door. Truthfully, it wasn't his expensive-looking car I wanted to pound, it was his expensive-looking face. "You know nothing about me at all. I mean, what did I ever do to you or your family?" I swayed, a little wobbly on my feet, and let out an angry growl of Linda Blair proportions. Dr. Cullen tried to steady me by grabbing my arm.

"You're upset with me?" he asked with obvious confusion.

"Yeah-huh."

"How have I offended you?"

"You told Edward to stay away from me," I blurted out. "You think I'm not good enough for your family."

"Isabella—"

"Bella!" I screamed.

"Bella, it's true, I did ask him to stay away from you but not for the reasons you think." His brow furrowed, and he appeared stressed for the first time since I'd met him.

"Why then?"

"I don't want him to hurt you."

I shook my head in confusion. "How is he going to hurt me?"

"I'm sorry, Bella. That's not my secret to tell."

-({})-

It took me nearly a week to get over that stupid flu. The Swans were not a healthy lot, to say the least.

I totally got in shit for drinking the beer.

It was totally worth it.

My punishment was therapy. Nope, I wasn't even kidding. My poor, soft gray matter was about to get an ass raping.

Dr. Cullen, the fucker, gave my father the name of a therapist, and Charlie didn't have the stomach to accompany me to my therapy session, not that I wanted him there. I could only thank holy crows that Cullen didn't spill the beans about Phil.

I sat in Dr. Bert Banner's waiting room (of course he wouldn't have a cool name like Bruce) and typed a crude lemail to the only man I ever fucked.

_Phil,_

_I'm about to speak to a therapist. If you cut the word in two, it spells the rapist. _

_That's what you are._

_I want a Macbook, or at the very least an iPad._

_Isabella_

I heard muffled voices through the wall, so I pounded my head against it idly. Examining my surroundings, I noted there weren't any reassuring diplomas hanging in the room. Perhaps they were inside his office? I doubted I'd be speaking with an Ivy League doctor of psychotherapy in the no-Starbucks-town of Forks. I was about to unleash the full complexities of my near sociopathic teenage angst on a glorified guidance counsellor.

_Fuck_, I hated Dr. Banner already, and I hadn't even met him. I hated him because of his chairs. _Don't judge, you can tell a lot about a person by their furniture_. The chairs in the room were Wal-Mart knock-offs of crap. He forged bad taste.

The door swung open, knocking me ass over tea kettle out of my reverie and onto the floor.

"Bella?"

Oh dear fuck, the voice on the other side of the wall belonged to Sex-Hair. The smirk in his green eyes was gone as he gaped at me.

"Yeah."

"You're...here?"

"So it would seem." He was wearing dark blue jeans, possibly the most beautiful jeans I'd ever seen. "I love your pants," I said lamely. "Wanna go for a smoke?"

"You don't smoke."

"I'm thinking of taking it up. All of the anti-smoking PSAs are making me want to rage against the machine."

"The machine? Like corporate America?"

"Nah, like the government. Tobacco is corporate America."

"I'm pretty sure tobacco is the government too."

"Well, fuck. I'm seventeen, and I want to do something stupid. Do my motives have to be political?"

"Well, no. Only, you brought up politics. We could talk about religion instead?"

I shrugged. "Sure thing. Why are you seeing a shrink?"

Edward took my hand in his, lacing his long fingers through mine. My heart pounded so fiercely I was certain he could feel it through my skin. "Outside, okay?"

"I can't. I have to talk to the therapist. Regretfully, I'll have to decline your offer."

"It was your offer," he reminded me.

"Oh, yeah..." _Please fuck me!_

"Bella... let's talk after, okay?"

"Will you tell me why you're in therapy?" _And possibly fuck me a little?_

"Sure, but I'd rather hear your theories. Want to go for dinner with me?"

I wanted to find a really cool word to accept his invitation.

"Irrevocably," I squeaked. Hm, wrong word.

He smiled nevertheless, hooking me once again with the lure of his lips.

**Author's Note: I usually save my fic recs for the podcast, but you must read ****Died and Gone to Heaven****»**** by ****DoUTrustMe**** - the funniest, sweetest fic I've read in a long time. Read it! Just trust me. I laughed so hard I cried, and cried so hard I peed. Seriously.**

**Waiting for my pocket buzz. I love hearing from you guys :) Fave review receives a dedication and a hump via the Twificpimps.**


	8. The Perfect Drug

**Author's Note: Thanks to betas jkane180 and mac214. Guest pre-reader is Mr. Sue- er, cryptthing (husband of roselover24) and I'm super-excited to have DoUTrustMe pre-reading too. Chapter dedication goes to teamedwardalways for always being so bloody enthusiastic in her reviews. Mwah!**

Facebook Status: Oedipussy - say it aloud.

"Rorshark?" Dr. Banner was waving menstrual blotches on large cue cards in front of my incredulous face. "Wasn't he a Sweathog from _Welcome Back, Kotter_?"

"Uh, no. That was Horshack, although I'm impressed with your knowledge of late seventies sitcoms."

"Gabe Kaplan makes me horny," I joked, and the bastard had the gall to write a note in his pad. "Omigod, what the fuck did you just write?"

"That you have bad taste in men," he deadpanned. "The obvious choice would've been John Travolta."

"I'm nothing if not unpredictable."

Dr. Banner set down his pad and picked up another blot. "What does this picture look like to you?"

"An ink jism."

"Jism?" The doctor's eyebrows knitted.

"You know, _come_ but with a 'U'... or the nectar of the wank?"

"This picture looks like ejaculate?"

"Ew! No need to be vulgar." I squinted as if deep in thought. "It looks like a squid going down on a chipmunk. That's actually my honest answer."

"Sorry, Bella... I was looking for a squid going down on a shoe. Don't feel bad; you were half right."

"Jeez, you're a sick motherfucker, aren't you?"

"Bella... can we just cut the bullshit? Will you save us both weeks of pointless sessions and get down to brass tacks?"

"I find your tactics rudimentary at best. Where exactly did you attend grad school?"

"Isabella-"

"Bella!" I corrected quickly. "I refuse to submit to this torture. Sometimes a blob of ink is just a blob of ink. I'd prefer a Freudian methodology."

"Alright." Dr. Banner sighed and put the offending pictures face down on his faux mahogany desk. "Should we discuss oral fixations then?"

A surprised giggle snorted out of my nose. "Ew. No."

"Oedipal complexes?"

Every muscle in my body suddenly ached with tension. I ground my teeth together and shook off the cold, creeping terror threatening to engulf me.

"Sorry - never read that play."

Dr. Banner smiled patiently. "Most people haven't, Bella, but certainly you know what an Oedipal-"

"It's all Greek to me," I said quickly.

"Interesting. You use humour to deflect." He inexplicably handed me a copy of _The Oresteia._ "Read 'The Libation Bearers' and learn about Electra."

"Um, you just happened to have that in your desk?"

"I keep it on hand for patients who demand Freudian therapy." He winked. "Joking aside, I couldn't help but notice a change in your demeanour just now."

"You're full of shit. Nothing's changed." Except my hands were totally shaking, my fingers vibrating like the wings of a hummingbird... or possibly a poorly endowed dildo.

"Bella... do you have daddy issues?"

I nearly fell off my chair. Tears burned the wells of my eyes, but I wouldn't permit them to spill over.

"I think we're out of time."

"Bella?"

"Fuck you!"

"Same time next week?"

I was about to hurl another expletive, but to my surprise, Dr. Banner was grinning.

-({})-

Edward wasn't waiting for me outside, and I was almost relieved. I couldn't do this... I couldn't handle him. He was too perfect; my self-esteem couldn't take being next to perfection and wanting, wanting, always wanting.

_It's better that I don't see him_, I consoled myself as my stomach bottomed out with bitter disappointment. Crouching down on the curb outside the medical centre, I noticed an insistent buzzing in my pocket.

Text message from E.A. Cullen - How was your session? Wait for me outside, k?

Shit, shit, shit! He was totally coming! Oh, wow, now I was picturing him coming. Seriously, was I some sort of sexual predator?

I closed my eyes and imagined what his cock would look like, all smooth and big and hot. I imagined dragging my tongue along his shaft and swirling it around the head of his dick.

Maybe I needed to imagine a nice cold shower.

I fiddled with my phone again and realized there were also several emails from Jake. _I should probably call him. _Shit, what was I going to say? 'Hey, I'm going out with this guy tonight, so don't wait up' seemed kind of callous.

Instead, I sent a text to Charlie to let him know I was going out with a friend, and then checked my Tweetdeck to see what was going on with my friends from back home. It was lame, but I missed them. I missed the predictability and even the sheer tedium of my old routines. Now I was a mess of jittery energy like an exposed, raw nerve - a live wire with nothing to ground me. What had grounded me before? Complacency, maybe? The knowledge that nothing in my life was going to get any better, so I might as well play the shitty hand dealt to me?

Renee had no fucking clue. How could she not know what was going on under her own roof? I mean, my bluff was good, but it shouldn't have been _that _good.

Did she really not know, or were the stakes just too high?

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck. Edward was going to be here any second, and my mind was decidedly in a bad place.

Why was I waiting for him, the boy with the silver fucking Volvo? Jake was the safe bet. Why was I testing my shitty luck?

I should've known better.

Edward was totally going to gut me.

I totally didn't care.

His car squealed its way into the parking lot, leaving tire marks in its wake, and the passenger door swung open as if by its own accord. I mean, the car hadn't even come to a complete stop yet.

"Hey, beautiful." He smiled, his face lighting up as if he was just as eager to see me as I was to see him.

Oh, fuck... I was a dead woman.

"Hi," I said, trying to step into his car without breaking my neck. Fuck, I couldn't even muster up the courage to look at him. Instead, I examined the car, marvelling at the interior leather. I dug my fingers into the chair, and they sunk into the material is if it was made of churned butter. "Why is my ass sweating?"

"Seat warmers." He shrugged. "Are you hot?"

"So hot... I mean, uh, yeah. Sorry, I just don't like being overheated. Could you crack a window?"

"Sure thing."

That fucking smile! I could only see half of his face, but I knew he was doing that smirk hooky thing with his lip. I wanted to bite it off his face. And did he change his clothes? It was hard to tell in the dim of the car, but his sweater seemed to have changed colours from a dark grey to a pale blue. Certainly it didn't need to be so tight? I could practically count his abdominal muscles - not that I was ogling.

"Put your seatbelt on," he ordered, but I couldn't seem to move just yet.

"Why? Is it a law in Washington?"

"Yes, but that's not why. You're very precious cargo." His hand gripped the gearshift, and once again I thought about his cock.

"Dude, is that a compliment? Because you just insinuated I was property."

"Not property - cargo, and sadly, not mine."

_Wait, what?_

My stomach dropped as the car lurched forward.

"You, er... what?"

He turned to look at me. "You're fucking beautiful, Bella." His voice seemed to darken. "If only this wasn't so fucked up."

"Keep your eyes on the road," I whispered, my voice cracking with shock. He looked away and sighed, gripping the steering wheel with his left hand so hard I could see the tendons in his forearm shudder beneath his shirt.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, I'm sort of counting on that."

"Could you be a little more cryptic?"

He snorted. "Yeah, probably."

"What do you mean by things are fucked up?"

"Well, for one thing, you have a boyfriend." The corner of his mouth twitched, drawing my attention to his ridiculously sexy jaw.

"What else?" I asked quickly.

"Why are you in therapy? Why did my dad have to give you Ativan?"

"Because I tried to kill myself," I said without thinking.

"Did you want to die?" he asked somberly.

"Not really."

"Then why did you do it?"

I shrugged. "I was looking for an exit strategy... look, can we talk about something else?"

"Yeah, sorry." He turned off the radio. I didn't even notice it had been on. "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Yeah," I laughed. "I write terrible poetry about killing myself."

"You're awesome." He was smiling.

"Thanks." I smiled too.

I leaned back against the rich, leather seat and closed my eyes, trying to calm myself. I knew it was utterly ridiculous, but my senses were overwhelmed from being in such close proximity to him. His scent, a mix of light cologne and a titillating musk I couldn't identify, permeated the air and made me dizzy. Drool nearly escaped the corner of my mouth as I took in gulps of eau de Edward.

"Hey, are you okay?" He took my hand in his and placed it over the gearshift. His foot pressed down smoothly on the clutch, and he dragged both my hand and the shift into fourth gear.

The engine roared, and I just about liquefied.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Tired…"

He squeezed my fingers, his skin cool against my own hot hand, and I felt the car lurch again as he pushed us into fifth.

I couldn't help it…

It was too much…

I moaned.

"Shit," Edward groaned. "Bella?"

I bit my lip roughly and pressed my thighs together. The tension in my body was crazy. He was barely touching me, but I felt like I was being strummed like a guitar string. I was wound so tight I was apt to break.

"Fuck," I squeaked.

"It's okay. Don't be nervous."

"I'm… mortified." I tried to move my hand off the gearshift, but he wouldn't let me.

"No, baby... don't be." He squeezed my hand again and started gearing down while I tried to calm by breathing.

"Oh my god," I gasped lamely. "What are you doing?"

"Pulling off the road."

"Why?" I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Because I think we're both a little over-excited, and I need to come clean about something."

"You're excited?" The car drifted toward the side of the road, and Edward cut the headlights, leaving us shrouded in darkness.

"Yeah."

"Like, um... aroused?" I could hear his breath hitch at my question.

"I'm hard as a rock."

He told me his cock was hard. I made his cock hard? But he was so perfect, and I was so...

"I want you," I whispered. _Please, please want me too? Please don't reject me? _Slowly, I reached forward and grabbed his arm. _Please, Edward, if you reject me I'll die!_ "Will you kiss me?"

"I..." His hand covered mine. "This isn't a good idea."

"Please?" I begged shamefully. "Please, please, please..." The horrible, pathetic mantra in my head now filled the car, and there was nothing I could do to take it back. "Please, Edward?"

"Oh, shit, Bella. I can't do this."

"Please?"

He swallowed and pulled my hand off of his arm. "I need to take you back to your car."

"Why?" I was in blood stepped so far already. "You said you were... hard."

"I'm pretty much always hard," he laughed bitterly. "And you're too good for me."

"I'm not," I insisted.

"This was a mistake, Bella... I'm sorry." Without another word, he gunned the engine and jerked the car back onto the freeway.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what I'd done wrong, but I'd already caused irreparable damage. Biting my lip to keep from speaking, I undid my seatbelt and pulled my knees up to my chest. Precious cargo, my ass. I wanted to be thrown overboard.

"I'm sorry."

"You said that already." My voice trembled.

"Please don't cry. I couldn't stand it."

"Fuck you!" How dare he tell me how to feel? "So this was obviously some sort of elaborate ruse you concocted to humiliate me. Consider me fucking destroyed!"

"No, it wasn't..." He slowed the car, dropping down into third as we neared the parking lot of Dr. Banner's office. "I know you're not going to believe me, but I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?" I hissed.

"From being used." He cut the engine and leaned over me to open the door. "I like you too much."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snapped. "I'm getting whiplash from your mixed signals. You like me... You want to protect me... I make you hard, but you don't want to fuck me."

"I want to... fuck you. Just resisting you right now is practically killing me."

"What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He lowered his head into his palm and said, "I'm a sexual compulsive, and your pussy is like a drug to me."

Huh. Gotta say, I wasn't expecting that.

**Author's Note: Were you? If you wish your pussy was Edward's brand of Heroin, show me some love by making my pocket vibrate.**


	9. Terrible and Pretty Things

**A/N - Thanks to my betas jkane180 and mac_214 who make this readable. Big love to the fabulous DoUTrustMe for pre-reading and essentially providing a third beta. Thank you to Dave (cryptthing) for letting me know when my guys are acting too girly. Chapter dedication goes to two reviewers of chapter eight for making me smile: Picklewinkle and tg10781**

Facebook Status: Dicks are men

Wait, what? Weren't all eighteen-year-olds sexual compulsives?

"That's bullshit, Edward. You're telling me you can't control yourself around women?" He walked around the car and offered me his hand, which I slapped.

"No… not_ all_ women." He had the decency to appear uncomfortably shamed. I glared at his green eyes, which could be described as emerald if I'd had any fucking clue what an emerald looked like. The word was rich, denoting something beautiful and rare.

The word was apt.

"Um, what the fuck does that mean... not all _women_?"

He shrugged and fidgeted with his sleeve. "I always have trouble controlling my, er, urges... but around you it's that much more difficult."

"So, there's something about me in particular that makes you lose control?" Wait, maybe this was a good thing.

"I'm drawn to you," he started, his eyes still averted. "But not in a good way… I'm not supposed to be dating at all."

"But you like me?"

"I do…" His voice was cautious. "Look, I don't want to mess up your life. It's probably better if we pretend this never happened at school on Monday."

Shit! I forgot about fucking school. "Right. Um, usually the popular kid gets the blowjob from the skank _before_ he pretends he doesn't know her at school." I wanted to be bold and grab his cock or do something equally unexpected, but there was a tremble to my voice that belied my snarky tone. "But if you want to skip ahead to the part where you're a complete asshole without having fun first, then I won't stop you."

"Fuck, Bella—"

"You already declined my offer."

"By fuck, I mean shit! I just revealed something astronomical to you. Why are you ridiculing me?"

"Because this conversation is ridiculous. We're using big words and talking about feelings and shit. The last time I checked, Forks wasn't _Dawson's Creek_." Stepping forward very slowly, I reached up on tiptoe wrapped my arms around his neck, and, to my surprise, he bowed his head against my shoulder and sighed. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," he said darkly.

"Kiss me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," he paused, and I could feel his jaw clench against my shoulder. "if I kiss you, I won't be able to stop. I can't afford to lose control around you."

"I can take care of myself."

He drew his head back and pulled my hand into his as if he was going to caress it. Instead he pushed up my sleeve, revealing a long, jagged scar - the telltale sign of the suicide I supposedly attempted.

"I'm not willing to take chances with your life."

-({})-

Men were dicks.

Not true, precisely. Dicks were men. Dicks controlled every thought and impulse, causing their owners to do unseemly things.

Edward acted like he couldn't control himself around me, like his lust could take on a life of its own and destroy me.

_Oh, but what a way to go._

It was raining just enough to be annoying by the time I reached the 115, leaving Edward's ghost in my wake. The Olympic fog washed over my windows, and I couldn't help but think of Heathcliff and Catherine - how cruel they were to each other when really, they were in love beyond reason.

But then again, I really fucking hated _Wuthering Heights_, and even still, this comparison was a perversion of an allegory.

I glared at my eyes in the rearview mirror and nearly dislocated my shoulder wrenching the steering wheel of my car. The tires skidded on the wet, loosely-gravelled road, leading the flatback into a fish-tail fury.

In the darkness, a memory sparked and ignited into flame, like the sudden strike of a match. The monster behind my eyes took shape; even though I was looking straight ahead at the wet highway, his visage was a permanent burn in my brain.

_I can't help myself, Isabella._

"You said that before… you said it would stop." I was speaking aloud even though I was addressing a memory.

_It doesn't have to, you know. I think it could even feel good if you let it._

"No," I said meekly. In those early days, I thought maybe I had a choice in the matter. It didn't take long for me to learn my best defence: it was better to feign enthusiasm than to be violated.

You can't rape the willing.

_My Isabella… I love you so much._

"Then stop."

_I can't. I need you too much._

The engine screamed in protest as it gunned, my foot pressing hard down into the pedal.

Terrible things. I did awful, disgusting things.

Renee and Charlie could never know the shit I'd done- had allowed to be done to me. Because, really, I could lie to myself and play the victim, but how could I justify the little moments; how could I bear their implications? Those little, awful, disgusting moments when I turned to the monster and offered kisses and touches of my own volition. Those terrible little moments when I sought the monster out and invited him into my bed.

Who owned the blame? Surely I was culpable for the_ little _moments.

And what about all the pretty things: the phones, the computer, the music, and books? If I was blameless, why did I accept the pretty things?

Why did I still demand them?

Payment. Payment in exchange for silence.

No, that wasn't right. Payment in exchange for sex.

I was a whore.

-({})-

I couldn't feel my feet at all as I gracelessly trotted across Jake's lawn with heavy, determined steps. Everything was dark, so I crept to the side of the tiny house until I found his window. There was a conveniently placed cord of wood underneath.

"Jake!" I yell-whispered and tossed a handful of gravel at the pane.

"Bella?" Jake opened the window and stuck his head out. "What are you doing outside?" He rubbed his fists into his eyes, pulling back the dark hair that fell forward into his face.

See, that was actually a really fucking good question because I hadn't a clue. Listening to my own loneliness, I offered up the only explanation I could fathom. "I need a cuddle," I whispered meekly. "Could you open the window for me?"

"No," he said simply, looking down at the fallen log I was precariously balanced on.

"Okay, sorry." Too tired to sob, I stepped down carefully, still managing to slip and fall on the wet lawn.

"Shit, Bella?"

"I'm fine, Jake. Don't worry, okay?" Fuck, my hand was bleeding a little, the small cut curving around the side of my palm. Tiny cuts. My body was covered in gossamer white scars. They were battle wounds of the unfortunate. In the moonlight they almost shimmered like a constellation of hurt.

"Jeez, Bells. I wasn't gonna make you stay out in the rain." He was smiling at me, the asshole. "You wanted a cuddle?"

"Fuck you!" I yelled eloquently. "No, I don't want a fucking cuddle from you... not when you couldn't even bother to open the window for me."

I tried to run to my truck, but fell several times in the dim front yard, mostly because there was a ridiculous amount of fallen branches littering the lawn. I mean, what the fuck was up with that?

The front door squeaked on its hinges, and the sound Jake's insufferable laughter filled my ears as he jogged over to me (without falling once). He lifted me off the ground, and threw me over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" I used my fists to pummel his lower back. To my chagrin, my ineffectual blows only made him laugh harder. I lifted the hem of his shirt up so I could gain access to his underwear and give him a wedgie.

"I was afraid you'd hurt yourself, dingus. I only meant for you to go around to the door."

"Oh," I said lamely, finding myself hypnotized by his glutes, clenching and unclenching with each step.

"Um, what are you looking at back there?"

"There are badgers fighting in your jeans. I think there's a grape or something in your underwear."

"Oh, really?" he asked mirthfully.

"Yeppers. I think I'll go in for a closer look."

He set me down on my feet and pulled up his pants like a bashful virgin. The fates had aligned to cockblock me again.

"Are you spending the night?" Jake asked absently, while my stomach fluttered with a most surprising nervous energy.

"Um, I dunno." Shrugging my shoulders, I kept my eyes stubbornly fixed on my feet. Staying with Jake was all kinds of stupid, but I felt myself become giddy at the prospect of being cuddled by him. The rest I could handle as long as he would hold me in earnest.

"C'mon." He dragged me back towards the house, snickering every time I nearly tripped over another stupid fallen branch.

The door screamed again, whereas I could not.

I bit my lip, and keeping my head lowered, I sneaked a peek at his face through my lashes. He was so fucking calm I wanted to kick him.

"Are you afraid of something?" He cupped his palm beneath my chin.

"No," I said, but my voice totally cracked. "I mean… no." Jeez! I felt like such a schmuck.

"Spit it out, Bella. What's got your panties in a bunch?" He ruffled my hair like I was a child. It made sense; I was acting like one.

"I have some questions for you before I agree to anything. There are certain concessions I'm not willing to make unless…" Shit, I forgot to breathe. "Unless I understand how we define this."

"You're speaking 'girl' to me, Bella. Translation, please?"

"This," I repeated, motioning wildly between the two of us. "What are we?"

He pounded on his chest like Tarzan and said, "Me Jake, you Bells."

"Okay, your IQ must be at least_ this_ high to get on this ride." I motioned to a spot somewhere near his muscular pecs.

"Well, ask a stupid question, expect a stupid answer." Jake's entire upper body was shaking with laughter. I idly considered kicking him in the nuts.

"Am I your girlfriend?" This time I looked straight at him.

"Bella," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a wide grin. "There's nothing in this world that would make me happier."

"Really? Like, you want us to be… like, a couple." Why the fuck was I speaking like a Valley Girl, or worse, a Canadian?

"Of course! What the fuck, Bells? I've been your bitch for the last four years. Jeez, the guys make fun of me all the time because instead of going out and drinking with them, I've been glued to my computer in hopes that you'll tweet me or ping me."

"You were waiting to be pinged by me?" I was astonished by this revelation.

"Yes, sweetheart. I only ever want to be pinged by you."

"Have you ever, um, been pinged by anyone else?"

"Er, not exactly, no."

"So… you've never pinged before?"

"Um, I've pinged myself a whole lot."

"So…" I trailed off.

"So," he said firmly.

"Should we… I guess, maybe get into your bed?"

"Are you tired?" He wrapped his arms carefully around my back. "Cold? You're shaking so much." He walked us both over to the couch, which creaked with his weight when he lay down, drawing me against his chest. "Get comfortable," he said soothingly in my ear. He was so warm. Rolling into a fetal position alongside his massive body, I snuggled my cheek against his chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of his heart through his shirt.

"So... do you think we should fuck?"

"Was that an offer?" Jake's arms tightened around me. I was pretty sure I could feel his cock becoming rigid against my thigh.

"Um, yeah, I guess…"

"C'mon, Bells." He laughed and collected my hair into a make-shift bun with his hands. "I just want to kiss you, okay?" He mouth was so soft and warm against the back of my neck as he gently sucked and kissed my skin.

"Is that what you think of while pinging yourself… kissing?" I gasped and then let out a god awful squeak-moan.

"Well, no. I think about other stuff too."

"Jenna Jameson?"

"Not porn!"

"Oh my god, you're such a liar. All guys like porn."

"Not this one," he said stubbornly.

I pulled away from his surprisingly skilled mouth, remembering I had another important question for him.

"What was that shit Billy was going on about… imprinting?"

"Crap, he told you about that?" he groaned.

"Well, yeah. He said that your people imprint, and I got the impression he doesn't think I'm, like, imprint material or whatever."

"It's a load of shit." Jake didn't often get angry, but I saw his hands squeeze into fists and his tendons shudder beneath his skin.

"Well, Billy seemed really serious about it."

"That's because he thinks he's experienced it." His voice was bitter. I pulled away so I could watch him speak.

"With your mom?"

"No," Jake said darkly. "Someone else."

"Well, why didn't he marry her then?"

"Because he was already married… to my mother."

Well, fuck. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have asked."

"Why he would have the audacity to talk about that shit with you is beyond me."

"I guess he was trying to make it clear that I'm not the one for you. Actually, I should probably go. I don't think Billy wants me in the house."

"No, Bella, don't you see?"

I shook my head because I really fucking did _not _see.

"He's protecting you from me. He thinks that I'll fuck around on you if our union isn't an imprint."

"Jeez. That's the lamest excuse for infidelity I've ever heard."

"I know, right? He was just looking for a mystical reason, an excuse, for why he cheated, essentially killing my mother."

"Wait, how did that kill her?"

Jake didn't say anything. He clenched his jaw, holding tension in his mouth. Even though he refused to speak any further on the matter, I was certain he thought his mother's leukemia was borne out of grief. That shit didn't fly with me. Cancer is cruel and indiscriminate.

Rolling onto my stomach, I said the only think I could think of to soothe him. "I trust you, Jake. I know you'd never do that to me." Now that we had declared ourselves to each other, there was no way I'd allow myself to be alone with Edward again.

**A/N - I feel the need to remind y'all this is an Edward/Bella fic. Trust me! Do you think if Stephie Meyer had posted New Moon chapter-by-chapter, she'd have had an author's note promising Eddie would be back? Imagine the flames!**

**Every time you review me I get off. **


	10. Mean Girls

**Author's Note: This chapter beat the shit out of me. Thank you to Mac214 (for the complete overhaul), jkane180 and DoUTrustMe for making it better. Thank you to Mac, Lizconno and Kassiah for featuring Stigmato on the Fictionators! This chapter is dedicated to Kassiah. I'm drinking Vodka and OJ while posting.**

Facebook Status: I've been personally victimized by Regina George!

I was dressed entirely wrong for this school. My run-in with that evil gnome Alice had totally provided me with misinformation about appropriate attire. Hyperventilating in the driver's seat, I took stock of the other kids milling past my truck. They were dressed modestly in jeans, sweats, t-shirts, and non-descript rain jackets. In contrast, my fancy jeans and fitted gingham button-down shirt seemed far too _precious_.

That cunting bitch, with her pointy Lisa Simpson hair and overpriced shoes - she'd been selling me lies, and I totally bought them. Actually, I blamed her brother, mostly for fucking with my already fragile ego... I mean, my complex was _complex _enough already, comprised of a multitude of insecurities and doubts.

_"I'm a sexual compulsive, and your pussy is like a drug to me."_

Right. Except he made it clear he didn't want anything to do with me. Cullen's words were as paradoxical as the perpetual wood he sported, but was unwilling to split me with.

Fuck, I just wanted to get through this day, to survive so I could see Jake tonight. He was so sweet... practically perfect. It was too good to be true, of course, which left me with a nauseating brick of foreboding in the pit of my belly.

_This too shall turn to shit._

Fuck that! I was going to adopt a new attitude. If I walked through life expecting to fail, it was bound to happen. I refused to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

With renewed determination, I wrenched the truck door away from the chassis... and plummeted to my death. No, not really. But I did manage to fall flat on my ass. It happened seemingly in slow motion - one minute I was stepping casually out of the car, and the next I was splayed out on the tarmac in a questionable puddle in front of practically the entire student body.

Huh. So I had it right the first time: today would be another epic fail.

The pavement was wet and cold against my ass, and I kind of wanted to cry. First impressions had never been a talent for me.

"Shit, are you okay?" A nice-looking blond guy suddenly hovered over me, offering his hand.

"No," I said honestly, pouting.

"Did you hurt yourself?" _I guess not all the guys in Forks are douchebags after all_. He picked my bag off the ground and heaved it over his shoulder.

"Only my pride." I did my best to smile without looking like a creepy asshole. I even tried to blink demurely, but I had a feeling it was coming off more like a psychotic twitch than a delicate flutter. "Um, can I have my bag back?"

"Oh... yeah, of course. I was just going to offer to walk you to class since you're new and stuff." He smiled warmly, his cheeks dimpling in a kind of adorable way. Was it possible he was flirting with me? He wasn't a sex god like Edward or Jacob, but he was certainly too hot to be bothering with the likes of me.

"You could, I suppose." I wiped gravel off my dark blue jeans and frowned. Renee sent them as an early birthday present after she received a frenzied email from me asking if Old Navy denim qualified as jeans. She assured me I could do better, and now my ass was clad in a brand called _Sevens_. In a misguided move, I armed myself with expensive clothes like a shield of natural fibres. That was stupid, I realized, as pair of girls passed by wearing what I assumed were Wal-Mart pants from the Miley Cyrus collection. Obviously the Cullens were the anomaly of Forks High.

"You're Bella, right?"

"Yeah," I agreed.

"What's your first class?"

"AP English in building three." Hm, did that sound like bragging? I wasn't bragging about being in advanced placement... not that guys find that kind of thing hot anyway. It's just that there could be other English classes in that building, and I couldn't remember the teacher's name.

"Advanced, huh?"

Shit.

"Yeah. I'm really smart," I said, because I might as well own it.

"And modest too," pretty blond guy said with a smirk.

"I also have a bitchin' body and a random talent for naming things."

"Um... what?"

"I really good at naming things. Seriously. It's almost freaky to see this talent in action."

"What kind of things?"

"Um... anything really. Show me something and I'll name it." This conversation had become flaccid. Seriously. Viagra couldn't incite excitement into it.

"Like that squirrel?" He pointed to something grey and furry that cut accross our path as we walked toward a really ugly, dilapidated, brown building.

"Shelly. Her name's Shelly."

"Nice."

"Yep. Told you - it's a gift."

"This is you." He handed me my bag, and I felt like a scunt because it occurred to me I had no idea what _his_ name was.

"Hey, thanks. So, what's your-"

"Jasper!"

We both turned abruptly toward the shrill noise.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Sex-hair's sister, Alice, twitched with what I could only suspect was either an epileptic seizure, or a fit that someone stole her gold. Jasper glared as she approached and slung his arm casually over my shoulder.

"Whatever the fuck I want. We broke up, remember?"

Yep, the gods certainly were defecating on me today, alright.

"So, um, you two obviously have some shit to work out over here..."

"Really, Jasper... are you so desperate you'd fraternize with one of Edward's little slut puppets?"

_Oh, them's fighting words!_ I dropped my bag and attempted to form fists, except I had no clue how to throw a punch.

"No, it's fine," she said suddenly as two ridiculously tall and blonde girls approached her. To my horror, the three of them turned into the classroom I was about to enter.

"You know Edward?" Alice's boyfriend... ex-boyfriend or whatever the fuck he was asked.

"Yeah."

"Are you guys together?"

"Not even a little bit. Hey, thanks for walking me to class, Jackson."

"Jasper," he corrected, even though it was _really_ a stupid name.

-({})-

Those blonde girls certainly weren't wearing Wal-Mart knock-offs. They had that laminated sheen Alice possessed, like their make-up had been applied with indelible paint and their hair had been shellacked into place. They giggled behind my head, whispering in cackles. I was pretty sure I wasn't being paranoid in thinking they were talking about me.

Couldn't I just call them out on it? Wouldn't dealing with the consequences be better than hiding?

Social code dictated that I suffer in silence and pretend not to hear them, but I'd sooner live with the humiliation of their taunts than swallow the caustic anger corroding my stomach lining.

Bravely, I turned my head around and said, "Hey, beetches."

Alice and one of the blondes she was sandwiched between laughed, probably at my audacity.

"So, I take it you're, like, laughing at me?" Dude, what did I have to lose, really?

"I don't know, Lauren?" Alice asked the blonde to her right flank. "Were you, like, laughing at psycho girl?"

"I couldn't be bothered," Lauren said flatly. "Alice, I refuse to believe your brother is fucking that girl. Did you see the plaid shirt? I'm thinking she plays for Rosie O'donnell's team."

Well, I did love baseball…

"Hey! Who the fuck pissed in your cornflakes? Also, I wouldn't fuck Edward with your slop hole," I snapped. "And I'm not a dyke." Not that there was anything wrong with it. "I totally have a boyfriend."

"Who?" Alice asked, and even though her voice remained calm, for an instant, a look of fear registered in her eyes.

"No one you know." I was being purposefully cryptic. Let the little bitch live in fear I was fucking her boyfriend. If it wasn't for Jake, I totally would've just to piss her off.

"Did you see the way the boys were all ogling her in the parking lot?" the one with the strawberry hair asked. "Like a shiny new toy or something."

"So?" Alice demanded.

"Nothing, really. I just thought maybe she'd like to sit with us today at lunch…"

"Tanya!"

"Don't be so dramatic. It could be fun." Tanya smiled at me, and I almost agreed for some perverse reason.

"Sure, Isabella," Alice said suddenly in a saccharine voice. "Have lunch with us. It's not fair that Edward and Jasper are the only ones who know anything about you."

Yeah, this was obviously some sort of set-up to humiliate me. I could smell the pig's blood from a mile away. "Thanks for the offer, er, Tanya, but I refuse to be the Lindsay Lohan to you little _Mean Girls _group. Sell bitchy somewhere else. I'm already stocked up."

I faced the front of the room, feeling pretty fucking pleased with myself.

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen," an excited Lilliputian gushed from the front of the room. I had to crane my neck because she was eclipsed by the desk. Jeez, what was wrong with this freaky town? Everyone was either too big or too small!

"I have an exciting announcement!" she yelled, probably making up for her slight stature with an annoyingly loud bellow. Oh, shit, was she staring at me? "We're extremely lucky to have the illustrious Isabella Swan in our class!"

Um, illustrious? Moi?

The tiny teacher looked expectantly at me.

"Um… hi?"

"Oh, Isabella, don't be so modest! Tell the class about your achievements in poetry."

No! She was not doing this to me on the first day in a new school surrounded by ravenously evil teenagers. Fuck my life!

"Um… pardon?"

"According to your transcripts, you have quite the way with words."

Yes. And to illustrate this point I replied with a very eloquent, "Guh?"

"You've been published?" she prompted, her smile faltering at my lack of enthusiasm.

"Yeah, 'lil bit."

"Please come to the front of the class, Isabella."

"Bella," I corrected and stumbled through the narrow aisle of desks to stand beside my teacher, the midget.

"Tell us about _Sirens_."

_No, thank you._ "Um, okay… so yeah, I wrote a poem called _Sirens_."

"Yes? Tell us more!"

"It was influenced a bit by T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland," although, the format and much of the imagery is more Prufrock." _Baffle them with bullshit!_

"What's it about?"

"Desolation," I said automatically.

"Care to be more specific?"

"Well… as a professor of literature, I'm sure you're aware of how cumbersome it is to offer an interpretation of a poem, even as the author, outside of the text itself." I was totally speaking without saying anything, and my teacher, whose name I didn't even know yet, was nodding emphatically.

"Oh, I agree, which is why I brought a copy of the literature review you're published in with me. I'd like you to read an excerpt for the rest of the class."

This so wasn't happening. I gaped in horror at the dog-eared book she thrust into my hands.

"No... I mean, please, no." How could she request such a thing of me?

She asked again, probably mistaking my terrorized fear for humbled modesty. I shook my head, and she kept harping.

"No," I said rudely, my shoe echoing against the linoleum floor as I put my foot down both in the literal and figurative sense.

I was immovable about this.

"Well... you'd think you'd be grateful. Some of us write our entire lives without being published by even a small University press anthology. Some of us..." she trailed off, smiling stiffly. "It's quite poignant."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Please, Bella?"

"No."

So she wrote an excerpt out on the chalk board:

_Remember the place I would go to hide?  
The garden. My secret place of worship.  
The flowers no longer bloom in my garden,  
and the rosebushes are covered in blood._

_I am the girl you gave away in the grocery store.  
The girl you raped and cherished in the parking lot.  
I've been loved so dearly I've grown immune._

It was beyond terrible. This was the equivalent of that dream that everyone has - where you're standing in front of a group of people, and suddenly you realize you're naked. Well, instead of my tits showing, the entire class could see my most disgusting scars and primal fears.

I wept silently into my notebook for the rest of the class while the mean girls snickered.

-({})-

Sex-hair wasn't anywhere I could see in the cafeteria, and my stomach was too tangled up in knots to attempt any food.

I saw Alice and her evil army of blondes enter the lunchroom. She tossed her head, barely jostling her immovable hair, and the throngs of students parted like the Red Sea to her Moses.

Cruelty reigned. It always did. I could see it... the fear in the other girls' eyes when Alice and her harpies passed them... the naked jealousy, the terror, and admiration.

Meh, I wasn't impressed. Lindsay Lohan took down Regina George in _Mean Girls_ with foot cream, energy bars, and little bit of duplicity. Maybe I could organize a coup, but then again, who the fuck had the energy for that shit?

Alice and I only shared only the one class, thank fuck. The rest of the girls seemed nice enough, but I could feel their judgment. At least Alice was straightforward with her hatred... the others hid their distrust of me behind lightly veiled hostility masquerading as benign curiosity.

Survival mode was all I needed. I could totally bear the slings and arrows of this outrageous fortune. All I had to do was get through the day and keep my head down. Quietly, I muttered an inspirational mantra akin to the Little Engine that Could's famous affirmation, while expertly plucking out an email to Jake on my iPhone.

"Oh my god! You're the new girl, right?"

I buried my face into my hands and nodded.

"Right. Well, I'm Jessica."

"Don't care," I mumbled into my palms.

"You're so funny." She dropped her lunch tray beside me and sat down as if I'd invited her. Which I hadn't. Okay, when a person is texting on her phone, she's busy! Honestly, there needs to be some sort of legislation implemented about not bugging a person when she's interfacing with her phone.

"So, is it true?"

"Yep." No, I had no clue what she was asking, but answering in the affirmative made her eyes bulge out of their sockets in the most disturbing way.

"Lauren told Kate, which means soon everyone will be talking about it."

"Neat."

"Lauren is totally freaking out. Edward is supposed to take her to Homecoming this year."

"Wait, what?"

Jessica started chewing obnoxiously on her celery like a rodent – like Shelly, the squirrel. "So are you dating or just fucking?"

"Who? Edward Cullen?"

"Yeah."

"Neither."

I decided it would be more prudent to hide in the bathroom for the rest of the lunch period. Interacting with other human beings was proving to be a failed experiment for me.

-({})-

A thrill shot through me when I saw _him_, despite myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and placed my palm flat against a locker, steeling myself against a possible confrontation.

_I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..._

Swifter than Shelly, I skittered past him, narrowly missing a collision when he abruptly turned and jogged into my path.

"Wait!"

"What the fuck?" I tried to push by him but he grabbed my arm, his fingers burning me though my shirt.

"I just—Alice said something happened first period and you freaked out."

"Yeah. Totally," I confirmed.

"Well… are you okay?"

"Nope. I'm thinking of drowning myself in the school pool. Want to watch?"

"The school doesn't have a pool."

"Damn my shitty luck!"

"What happened?" he asked, following me into the biology lab.

"Nothing really… don't you have to get to class?" I asked distractedly, taking stock of the kids in the room. Jasper sat up front and waved his arm, kicking the stool beside him as if to indicate I should sit there. Suddenly, Edward grabbed my arm and pulled me to a table at the back of the room. "Go to class, Edward," I snapped.

"This is my class." He set his books down beside me and jumped up onto the stool. "We're going to be lab partners," he added nonchalantly.

"I thought you didn't want to be friends." I couldn't help the bitter sarcasm lacing my tone.

"It's probably not smart…"

"Oh my god! Your mood swings are giving me whiplash." And horny. Again, I found myself turned on, even though I was doing my damnedest not to look at him. I swear I could smell him. He was sweating sex hormones or something.

"Look… I just… I know you have a boyfriend, and I swear I won't mess with you again like what happened on Saturday."

"Dude… you don't even know me. Why does it matter?" I ground my teeth into my lower lip in frustration.

"Honestly… I'm not certain." He smiled suddenly. "I just really like being around you."

I had avoided looking at him too closely. It was difficult to think or even breathe when faced with his mischievous green eyes. Oh, fuck, I should have kept my gaze averted. He was motherfucking perfect – the way his full lips half grinned at me while his strong jaw flexed.

"Thirsty?" he asked suddenly, and I shook my head. He dipped his hand into his bag and withdrew a bottle of orange juice. "Are you sure? You kind of look like you're going to pass out."

"I'm fine," I huffed, kicking my foot against the bench. "Ow."

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a rather annoyingly sexy manner. "More for me," he shrugged and tipped the bottle back against those full lips I'd been coveting. He took long swallows, his Adam's apple waggling hypnotically. A tiny orange drop escaped and dripped down his chin. Fuck… I wanted to lick it off.

"I changed my mind," I said suddenly. "I'm thirsty."

He cocked his eyebrow and wiped his chin. The truth was, I wanted to kiss him, but since I couldn't, I'd have to settle for lip contact by proxy of the bottle. He passed the juice to me, and I wrapped my mouth around the bottle, taking slow, calculated sips. Since I seemed to have his attention, I licked the rim.

"Fuck." Edward's eyes were glazed over.

"What?" I asked innocently, and took enough of the neck back into my mouth to be considered vulgar.

"I've never wanted to be orange juice so badly in my life."

He wasn't getting his juice back. I watched him pocket the cap, and for the life of me, I didn't understand why.

**Author's Note: Tomorrow, October 16th one of my favourite fellow Canadian's (DoUTrustMe) fic will be featured on the Readalong. Even if you've already read Died and Gone to Heaven, make sure to check it out on twitter. There may be a surprise!**

**I am dying for a good pocket buzz, ladies (and like three gentlemen). It's been a rough week... help a girl out?**


	11. Weight

**A/N - Dear jkane180 and Mac214, I'd like to make out with you both for your mad beta skills, inappropriately, me. Also, big love to DoUTrustMe and Cryptthing for pre-reading. Chapter dedication for fave review goes to twisurfgrl and shout outs to my sister pimps twicharmed and altheajams for bearing the brunt of the work in the Fandom People Awards.**

Facebook Status: my psychiatrist gave me pink elephant juice today.

I hated him.

Oh, how I fucking hated him. _Let me count the ways..._

I hated his beautiful hair, soulful eyes, and perfect fucking jaw line. I hated that he knew I secretly coveted him. I hated the expression on his face - the way he arranged his mouth as if my proximity caused him physical pain.

The grey jacket he wore (which I really fucking hated) was tailored to fit his lean muscles perfectly. The fabric was probably soft... like an octogenarian's cock. Not really. More like Egyptian cotton. Fuck, I needed to touch... no. I didn't. I hated him.

All the same, I could feel my fingers stretching towards him, betraying my bitter resolve by reaching for his sleeve. My mind was numb, but my body was alive and electric. I touched his cuff and was met with his sorrowful grunt.

This situation was ridiculous. Honestly, if I stepped outside myself and took on an omniscient perspective, this is what I would have seen: an utterly plain girl and a brooding heartthrob torturing each other with long, withering glares.

Fuck me if Forks High wasn't _The Vampire Diaries_.

"Bella," Edward whispered pathetically. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say more but took a swipe at his lower lip with his tongue rather than offering me words.

His mouth was lush and pink, and did I mention how I hated it?

Was he suffering? What right did he have to be hurting? _I_ was the one who was hurting. I was hurting because I hated him.

But he was suffering for some unknown reason, and I couldn't hold onto my hatred. The bastard! I wanted to comfort him.

So I hated him all over again because he was denying me my hatred.

"I'm in hell," he muttered. His elegant hands and long fingers clutched the table we shared as if he was in profound anguish, and I really hated them too. I tossed my hair back, and he groaned.

"What the fuck?" I hissed. Why the need for all this melodrama? Only moments ago I was rimming an orange juice bottle, and now everything was suddenly emo but not in a cool arthouse/Japanese anime kind of way.

"Nothing," he mumbled, leaning away from me and scowling. Did I smell bad?

"You're acting strange," I pointed out. "Also, I really hate you," I added because it had to be said.

"Yeah... I guess I had that one coming."

He ran out of biology class as soon as the bell rang, and while I enjoyed the view of his ass, it occurred to me I'd just told him I hated him.

"Edward, wait up!" Lauren called and launched herself after him.

I hated Lauren too.

By the time I got home, my stomach felt like it had digested itself in some sort of perverse act of autocannibalism. I ate nearly an entire box of Rice Crispies in an effort to fill the nauseated void in my belly. I did my best not to relive the day's events as I licked cereal dust off my fingers and attempted to text Jake again. Where the fuck was he? I needed to go through the day's events and bitch to a sympathetic ear. Also, I needed a cuddle; I needed to curl up inside of him and disappear.

But several texts to my only lifeline proved to be fruitless. I didn't want to be paranoid, but something felt decidedly off. Jake never ignored me.

With my hunger abated, other impulses such as my teenage hormonal lust and psychotic paranoia made themselves known.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I sang Marvin Gaye a little to romance myself. Little extravagancies such as a serenade before I finger banged my sex-starved girly bits were important. If I couldn't respect myself, I mean, who could?

Not that I did... respect myself, that is.

I totally didn't.

But fuck if I wasn't horny as a hound dog from Edward and the orange juice bottle.

Before I could commence the bean flickage, there was the little matter of psychotic paranoia to attend to. I grabbed my beautiful new iPad from my dresser and opened my Tweetdeck:

_SPlathisDead: Spanking the monkey. Where's (at)jblack180? I could use a hand..._

Needless to say, my phone started vibrating a few seconds later. My voicemails and innocent text messages didn't warrant a call back; however, a dirty tweet sure coaxed a reply out of my boyfriend, the asshole.

"Bella?"

Yeah, I really hated Jake too.

"You sound weird," I bitched into my phone. I was irritated. This, coupled with my need for a release, made me bolder than usual.

"Weird how?" Jake asked with casual disinterest. Oh my god, boys fucking sucked so much! Even the good ones. Whatever... I knew how to get his attention.

"I'm taking my pants off." Actually, I wasn't wearing any pants at all, but removing clothes sounded more seductive than random nudity.

"Shit, Bella. Embry will be here any second-"

"Shut the fuck up, asshat. I've had the day from hell. I want to come." I unbuttoned my shirt and flipped my bra up. "Want to see my tits? I'll email you a pic."

"Shiiiit," I heard him groan lightly into the phone. "I'm sporting wood now."

"Jake," I whispered while pinching my nipples lustfully, "have you ever gone down on a girl?"

"Yeah... once." He sounded really guilty.

"It's okay, Jake. I didn't expect you to be completely innocent." For some reason, the idea that he'd licked clam before made me unbelievably wet. I mean, if he'd done it once, maybe he'd do it again. "I was just checking to see if it's something you liked... and maybe would do to me?"

"Oh, fuck..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yeah, Bell. I'd eat you in a second."

Good fucking answer.

"I'd let you. In fact, I want your tongue in my pussy right now," I moaned into the phone and clutched my pillow between my thighs. "Touch your dick for me," I demanded.

"Bells... I can't. Shit, I want to, but I have to get to tribal council."

"Lame," I muttered and tossed the pillow on the floor, no longer feeling amorous. His reticence to join me left me with a sobering feeling of shame.

-({})-

Edward didn't show up on the second day of school. Who the fuck skipped school in the first week?

Edward _fucking _Cullen did, because nothing about him was status quo.

The rest of the day progressed as if I was walking around in a fugue state. The air was oppressive in the tiny classrooms, but it didn't really matter. I didn't feel like an inhabitant of my own body, which must have been evident to the other students as they didn't even try to approach me… not even to ridicule me.

This made me feel mildly vindicated.

Rather than my mind becoming unhinged, I imagined that my soul had taken flight from my body. I was made of air and light and thought. This pile of flesh and bone was of no consequence whatsoever.

Also, I liked the idea of being a ghost, but ghosts were comprised of spirit, not heavy despair. Why was everything so heavy?

Only one person dared to speak to me at the end of the day in the parking lot, but that was okay; she was a ghost too. Her speech was wordless at first, an annoying monotonous buzz in my ear. She darkened the space in front of me and refused to move.

"What?" I demanded rudely.

"Do you have a monopoly on flannel plaid?" She was so morose. Yes, my assessment certainly was the pot calling the kettle emo, but she really was the personification of Winona Ryder, circa 1988.

"Totally," I said dully and then added for effect, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

"Whatever," she grumbled, and I sucked in a shocked breath when I took notice of her face. "This was stupid." She jogged away from me without saying another word.

Except now I was painfully curious about her. First of all, there was her hair – the obsidian tresses with paradoxically blonde roots. It was so counter-intuitive I wasn't sure what to make of it… but also there was her face. It was possibly the most beautiful face I'd ever seen, despite every effort she made to make herself unappealing with heavy black liner and white pancake.

-({})-

Jake wasn't answering my fucking texts. I shifted uncomfortably in Dr. Banner's horrid vinyl chair and glared openly at him as he unscrewed the cap off something shiny.

"Would you please put your cell phone away?"

"Never."

"Would you do it for a Klondike bar?"

I giggle-scowled, and he passed me a silver flask with a ridiculous pink elephant on it. "Take a swig," he said, smiling encouragingly.

"You do realize I'm underage, right?" I asked, taking the flask cautiously. "What's in here?"

"Try it," he encouraged almost playfully.

What could I say? I liked to live dangerously. Despite Dr. Banner's benevolent smile, I suspected he was concocting a terrible plan. Not evil, per se, just something underhanded.

"It'll take a little more than cheap booze to get me to reveal my tender underbelly to you." Nevertheless, I tipped the liquid back into my mouth. It was sweet and tangy, with none of the burn or mind-numbing balm of alcohol at all. "What the fuck?"

"What?"

"That's not booze," I protested.

"Of course not! You're underage, and I'm your therapist. What kind of quack do you think I am?"

"I dunno… the Robin Williams, _Dead Poet Society_ kind? The kind that makes me stand up on chairs while reciting poetry, O Captain! My Captain!"

"I'm not Robin Williams. First of all, I'm not part-sasquatch... also, I don't think that movie is a good reference point. There was a suicide scene."

"Oh, I forgot about that part... nah, I already got naked and tried to take my own life... seems sort of passé now."

"What do you feel like talking about today?" He was changing the subject. Good idea.

"Do you want me to tell you about my dreams? I can't even articulate them anymore, Dr. Banner." And I couldn't. My dreams, like my life, were like a slow asphyxiation. Everything was muffled, and I never seemed to be able to draw the right amount of air into my lungs.

"Why? Are they important?"

"Probably. Can't you map them? Make sense out of the chaos like an astronomer finding order in the stars?" That was really poetic. He was sure to be impressed.

"Stop evading. I think you've had too much Elephant Juice."

"It's Kool-Aid," I protested, but he grabbed the flask out of my hand.

"Want a smoke?"

"Um… no?"

"Your loss." He pulled a box of Wonderbars out of his desk and opened the top, revealing cigars rather than chocolate. "They're robusto."

"You can't smoke in here!"

"Why not?" He unwrapped the Corona and bit the tip.

"It's, like, illegal and stuff…"

"What stuff?" He unearthed a Zippo from his pocket and flipped the top, igniting the flint.

"And… highly unexpected and unprofessional."

"So, no to the cigar?"

"No… thanks." I had to admit I was all kinds of curious.

"Have you ever had one?"

"A cigar?"

"Yes. Have you ever smoked a cigar?"

"I'm a cigar virgin," I admitted, and he raised his eyebrows in effective mockery. "What?"

"A virgin, you say?" He placed the cigar down on the table, and I grabbed the fucker and lit the tip before he could utter another word.

"Only where cigars are concerned!" A terrible image of Monica Lewinsky and Clinton and the oral orifice invaded my mind. Ew. "And don't get all Freudian on me!"

"I thought you liked Freud?"

"Yeah, well… sometimes a cigar is just a fucking cigar." I took a hefty pull and bravely inhaled a cloud of delicious tasting smoke. Instantly, I was convulsing and hacking, tears pouring out my eyes as I tried to expel the fire out of my lungs.

"You're not supposed to inhale," he said mildly.

"In my dreams I can't breathe," I said suddenly. "I can't speak or move."

"Are you drowning?"

"Not in water. I'm drowning in need. I'm drowning in indecision and loneliness and loathing but not in water…"

"I'm afraid I don't understand. Could you be a little less abstract?"

No. I couldn't speak plainly. I could only offer him poetry. "There's a heavy weight lying on top of me. He won't let me go."

"What's his name?"

"Phil," I confessed.

"Who is he?"

"My mother's husband."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He does… hurt me. Every day. It never stops - this weight on me. I can't breathe. I want to breathe."

"Tell me what happened?"

"I can't." I shook my head and smiled coolly. "Will you teach me to smoke a cigar?"

"I'm sorry, Bella. You can't smoke a metaphor."

Scowling, I jumped up suddenly and wrapped my sweater about my shoulders, not bothering to put it on properly. "A metaphor for what?"

"Your innocence."

I snorted and kicked one of his cheap-ass chairs. "I have none."

"Children don't know how to smoke cigars. Adults do," he said simply.

"What does that have to do with anything?" I raged and plucked the cigar out of his hand. "Watch my innocence go up in smoke." My laughter sounded manic even to me, and I wrapped my mouth around the crudely-cut tip.

"What if a cigar isn't just a cigar?"

It was difficult but not impossible to pull the cloud over my tongue and hold it just shy of my windpipe. The sensation was sweet and slightly unpleasant at the same time because every instinct inside of me demanded I inhale.

My instincts were always backwards.

"What is it then?" I asked, exhaling a clumsy donut.

"The cigar is Phil's dick," he deadpanned in the same moment I brought it back to my puckered lips.

It dropped from my hand, landing cherry-side-down on the carpet. The synthetic fibers ignited and disintegrated, still, I couldn't muster a reaction of any kind.

The smell hit me, all noxious and suffocating, and the stench of melted plastic spurred Dr. Banner into action. He swiftly doused the fire with whatever was in the elephant flask, and the flame transformed into a sickly sweet smoke as it fizzled.

I was going to faint.

I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat strangled off the sound. The pressure crushing my chest now settled in my larynx.

"You're going to be okay, Bella," he said calmly.

I shook my head. I wasn't. He had no fucking idea.

Dr. Banner placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. When I didn't cringe away, he rubbed my back in a fatherly way. "What can I get you?"

"I want my mother," I whispered, even though the request was ridiculous. Suddenly, I was a child.

**A/N - Stay tuned for the Fandom People Award winners, both the voting results and the results predetermined by nominations. Check my profile for the linkie.**

**Also, MacFlan (Mac214 and me) will be posting the final chapter of Sweet Tooth this week. Link to MacFlan on my profile.**

**Any idea who emo girl/Beetlejuice is?**

**I couldn't help but notice my pocket isn't buzzing *Sadpanda***


	12. Sparks

**Author's Note: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all you crazy bitches participating in NaNo! Good luck and hang in their kitties. Big boobie snuzzles to my betas Mac214 and Jkane180.**

Facebook Status: Updating from the bathroom. I'm in Hell.

Hunter S. Thompson said, "You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when it's waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye."

So fucking true. Not that I was defending my behaviour; I just needed to set the scene properly.

I realized the third day of school held no promise as I loitered in the parking lot. I lounged in my truck with my head flat against the window and my legs draped over the dusty armrest thinking about misery. With a crudely-rolled joint pursed between my lips, I took a deep drag and did my best to hold the smoke in my lungs before coughing. The air around me smelled noxious yet sweet.

Was this the American dream? Hunter S. never found it before blowing his brains out; I doubted if I would. Or maybe he did find it after all. Fucking crazy, man. What if he found the American Dream and killed himself out of sheer disappointment?

It made sense... just like I always said: Courtney didn't kill Kurt - disillusionment did.

So, my drugged-out, nihilist thought for the day was - don't look for happiness. _I've looked into the heart of darkness of man and found sunlight._

Holy fuck, this pot was good!

I'd earned this - a day of disgusting self-pity and juvenile indulgence - and I refused to feel guilty about partaking in something as benign as pot. If I'd had my druthers, I'd be balls deep in retro acid, like my hipster heroes from the days of psychedelic yore. My druthers were nowhere to be found, though. Neither was Jake.

I jumped out my truck and kicked the door shut, but it swung back open petulantly, whining on its hinges.

"Need some help?" a familiar shock of blond hair inquired.

"Yeah, are you mafia? Because I'd like to order a hit on my stupid truck." I couldn't focus my eyes beyond the floaters. Light seemed to refract into its component colours through my pupils, and I couldn't control the rate of my speech. Speaking was entirely too distracting anyway. Why should words matter when I could communicate in colour?

There was a tiny cut on my hand that itched, and I scratched it, marvelling at how even the wound bled rainbows.

"Bella?" The hair was still speaking.

"Are you under that crazy hair, Jasper? I can't quite see you."

"I'm here," he confirmed and took my hand away from my face. Not fair! I wanted to see the colours bounce. He laced his fingers through my own and stared at our entwined hands.

"Do you see the colours too?" Maybe he was high. He certainly had the hair for it.

"Sadly, no. I bet they're mighty pretty."

"Yep. Lovely as the day is shitty. What about a gun, cowboy? Do you have a gun?"

"I'm sorry, baby... I don't." Like Edward, Jasper had a crooked grin, but rather than making me horny, I found his smile oddly soothing.

"I thought you were Southern." I pouted, trying to reclaim my fingers, but he only squeezed harder. "All Southerners have guns, yes?

"I'm Texan, ma'am." He smiled widely. "But I'm lacking in the shotgun and hound dog department, though."

"Hm, well, I promise not to hold it against you." I tugged my hand out of his grasp and asked, "Do you party, Jasper?"

"Define party?" He frowned, so I evaded.

"I don't want to go to first period," I blathered. "I found out the book I'm studying for my independent lit project has been banned in this stupid town." _Fear and Loathing in Las_ _Vegas_ was not deemed suitable for study due to its glorification of drug use. Literature didn't glorify drug use - being high did.

"What do you want to do?"

"I'm looking for a very specific kind of drug, but it seems to have fallen out of fashion with today's youth."

"You are today's youth." He smiled like a simpleton and asked, "Are you on Ecstasy?"

And just as soon as I'd decided to like him, the feelings dissolved. His stupidity — or rather, unadulterated ignorance — was deplorable. As if I'd drop E!

"You are of no use to me," I said simply. "I believe I've misjudged you. My apologies for wasting your time."

"Alice says you're a psycho," he said suddenly. "I didn't believe her, but-"

"But you do now." We were finishing each other's sentences. How fucking sweet. "I'm not psycho; I'm high. I thought you were kind and hoped you were clever, but you're just Alice's little lap dog." I chewed on my lip, disliking the way it felt dry and sticky at the same time against my teeth. "I think maybe I hate you a little," I confessed.

"Well, shit." He raked his hands through his hair as if he was trying to pull it out at the roots. "Why the hostility?"

"I guess I just don't trust you."

"Because of Alice?"

"Because you have a cock," I clarified. "Look… I'm sorry, alright? I'm not sure why I snapped at you, other than the fact you got in my way on a particularly crappy day."

"Want to talk about it?" A frigid blast of air made me take notice of his windbreaker. His straggly, blond hair whipped around his face as the wind shifted suddenly, blowing ice water from the ocean. He pulled the hood over his head and put an arm around me, rubbing my soaked shoulders. I didn't take much of my stuff when I moved to Forks, and I missed my orange rain jacket. Would I ever see it again?

"No. I really don't. I think I'll just go home." But I couldn't. It was only the third day of school. I glanced in the direction of my truck wistfully.

"Wait… stay?" His voice was rough, cracking slightly.

"Jasper, you're not, like, full of feelings for me or some shit, are you?" Because he kind of looked smitten. Apparently, the sick bastard got off on emo-suicide chic.

"Nah." He looked down at his feet but didn't take his hands off me. "Do you want to make out?"

"Not even a little bit," I said honestly.

"It would really piss off Alice." He hunkered down to kiss me, and I blocked his affections by twisting his nipple hard enough to bruise him... even through his jacket. "What the hell?"

"Purple nurple." I shrugged. "I'm not making out with you. Try that again, and I'll nurple your nut sack."

-({})-

Lunch in Hell. I imagined Hunter S. Thomson ushering me through the sulphuric halls of Forks High, like Virgil to Dante. The lunchroom was the ninth circle.

_Hyperbole is me._

Throngs of people, cruel and ripe with hormonal lust and rage, waited in the lunch line like a collective, pulsating phallus. The air was so thick with sex I had to plug my nose for fear of spontaneous impregnation.

Edward was sitting with Lauren today. That clinched it. There was no way I could sit in this room without having some sort of breakdown.

Instead of eating lunch, I decided to run to the bathroom to vomit. Not really. I mean, I tried, but I only dry-heaved.

At least there was safety in stalls.

I comforted myself with the thought that at least the day couldn't get any worse. I sat on the toilet and texted Jake, trying to ignore the sobs coming from the cubicle adjacent to me.

"Oh my fuck, could you please shut up? I'm trying to have a psychotic episode in here." I peered under the stall and saw army boots. "Who are you?"

"Jasper's sister," the voice snuffled. "And I have what you need," she said, passing me a sheet of paper under the partition.

"Holy fuck!"

"Yeah," she said with a slight tremble in her voice. "Don't take more than one hit at a time. It's clinical grade."

"How much do I owe you?"

She actually laughed but never replied.

-({})-

Finally, I had crossed the line from mildly neurotic to psycho, stalking girlfriend. What the fuck else was I supposed to do though? Jake hardly even responding to my tweets, and when he did, he used his 140 characters to be as cryptic and uncaring as possible. Something was definitely rotten in the state of Washington, and it wasn't just the putrid fish.

This just wasn't like him. In truth, I was afraid.

"Jake!" I yelled, banging on the window of his room. There was no answer at the front door, so I thought that maybe he was taking a nap. "C'mon, Jake. Where are you?" My voice was a sad little wail, barely audible even to myself over the howling wind. I couldn't see through the yellowing curtains, but for some reason, I was sure the room was empty.

I stood up and looked down the road towards the shoreline. The ocean was a tempest. This pathetic fallacy did not bode well for me.

Where the fuck was he? His car was parked in the driveway, for fuck's sake. I ran across the loose gravel road the Black house was situated near and down to the beach. There was no sand on the shore this far south. The ocean lapped against mud, which gave way to broken rock. Kneeling down on a boulder, I whipped my head around to survey the expanse of beach.

From the driftwood to the beached fish, picked-clean by scavenger birds that stalked the shore, everything around me was dead and decaying. This was another ominous portent; I was certain of it. My life was suddenly a T.S. Eliot poem.

I was alone. Why did I keep coming here? "Jake!" I yelled fruitlessly, not really expecting any kind of reply, but voices echoed down the rock face of the cliffs. Jake said the boys liked to cliff dive, and I could see what looked like four boys goofing off; pretending to jump on the top of the highest rock.

Were they actually going to do it today? That was tragically stupid.

"Embry!" I yelled, because, really, who else would be dumb enough to contemplate cliff-diving in this weather? My voice didn't carry over the sound of the ocean.

I tapped the password into my phone to unlock it, about to text Jake to let him know I was here, but then thought better of it. My instincts were guiding me now. At full throttle, I ran away from the ocean and back up the gravel road, somehow managing not to slip and die.

Luck was not on my side.

Dying would have hurt less.

"Jake-" His name caught in my throat. I wasn't sure what I'd expected to find, but it wasn't this.

"Is your dad home yet?" a girl asked, following Jake out of the garage.

Somehow I had missed them when I'd stalked the house. Were they hanging out in the garage this whole time? What were they doing in there?

"C'mon." He tugged her away from the dilapidated structure that housed Billy's old cars. Why was he pulling her by the arm? Maybe he wanted to take her to his room.

"Your dad," she protested.

Jake caught her hand in his and smiled, looking down into her eyes. While they weren't kissing, there was an intimacy between them I'd never have a hope in hell of ever knowing with another human being. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and she lowered her face shyly.

"It's cold," Jake said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She rested her delicately beautiful face against his chest, turning and looking curiously at me.

I was only a phantom. She couldn't possibly have seen me.

"We should head to the house."

"Jake," the girl said, motioning to me.

I wasn't here.

"Bells!" Jake dropped the girl's hand but didn't say another word.

"I'm not really here. I died. I'm not real."

It made sense now. I'd been dead all along. This was Hell.

I grappled in my pocket for a lighter and walked away from them.

"Bella, wait!"

He didn't follow me. If he had, he would've stopped me.

It took exactly thirty-five seconds for the Volkswagen Rabbit to ignite. It would've taken me less time if I'd started at the gas tank in the first place.

**A/N – writing this chapter made me a sad panda. If you're feeling sad right now and want to read something ridiculous, check out my collab with DoUTrustMe, author of Died and Gone to Heaven, and the first Canadian ever to buy timeshare on the Moon. There's a link to our joint account, DoUFlanme on my profile, where we post Don't Fear the Reaper. Check it out!**

**Also, stay tuned for Hmonster's project 30-days of Emmett! Jkane180, wordslinger and I will be submitting a one-shot. We love Emmett.**

**I'm at work so my cell phone is my purse. I'm sitting on it though. Give me a phone buzz! I welcome all reviews except the abusive ones. Hell, on some days, I can get off on those ones too ;P**


	13. Another Pound of Flesh

**A/N - big love to jkane180 and Mac214 for the beta. Also props to DoUTrustme for the pre-read. Did you know all Canadians are born with horns? It's true. We have them removed at birth. **

Facebook Status: Attention Jacob Black - I just mouth-fucked your hometown hero.

"Jesus Christ, Bella. What the fuck am I supposed to tell your mother?" Charlie raged, pounding his fist against the concrete block wall.

"I'm sorry," I managed weakly, sitting on a cold bench in Forks County Jail. Everything smelled like fire - my hair, my clothes, even my skin was covered in ash. I thought fire was supposed to be cleansing. It wasn't. I felt as if the stench of burning metal would never be off of me. _Out, out, damn spot!_ This burn on my wrist was another battle scar I'd earned today. My hands would never be clean.

"How could... I don't understand... what the fuck were you thinking?"

"Jake was with another girl," I answered honestly, because really, what other choice did I have? "He broke my heart, so I destroyed his - an eye for an eye, and all that jazz."

"Well, shit. No wonder he doesn't want to press charges. He was caught with his pants down, was he?"

"What? No! He wasn't fucking her!" My father winced at my use of the expletive.

"So how do you know he was cheating on you?" he asked, removing a heavy key chain off his belt.

"I could tell by the way he was touching her... the way he looked at her. A girl just knows. I mean, how did you know Mom was cheating on you with Phil?"

"I found them fucking in my bed."

"Oh. Ew."

"Yeah," Dad agreed. "Double ew." He unlocked the cell door and sat beside me on the bench. "Did you give the boy a chance to explain himself before you set the yard on fire?"

"I only meant to set the car on fire."

"I know, Bells. Fire spreads though. There's no grass left on the yard now." He rubbed soot and tears off my cheek and pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket so I could blow my nose. I hadn't even realized I'd been crying.

"Well, the lawn shouldn't have gotten in the way," I snuffled petulantly. "So, if Jake's not pressing charges, am I free to leave?"

"Not exactly... there are criminal charges to contend with too. Plus, I'm still waiting to hear from Billy."

"Oh, shit, Dad. I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking about Billy." He and Dad had been friends forever. What the fuck was I thinking?

Oh, right: revenge. They say the best revenge is living well. That's bullshit. The best revenge is a bullet between the eyes.

"Dad," I said tentatively. "I'm really sorry about this. You're not going to, um..."

He looked at me expectantly when I didn't finish my sentence. "I'm not going to?"

"Send me back?"

"Do you want to go back home?" he asked carefully.

Perspective is an interesting phenomenon. Looking at my life from ten-thousand feet in the air, I knew I'd never go back to being the girl I used to be.

"My home is where you are, Dad."

-({})-

Oh my god, so orange totally wasn't my colour.

I was picking up garbage on the highway in another unseasonable ice storm. Apparently, probation was a dish best served cold. I didn't mind the work so much; it was the humiliation of the other kids knowing about what happened that got to me.

It didn't even take a full two days for the news to spread, pardon the expression, like wildfire throughout the student body of Forks High.

Alice had driven by twice already, snapping pictures of me in my government-issue orange smock and slicker. Why the fuck did we have to wear orange like federal inmates? Jeez, I was only doing a few dozen hours of measly public service. By the way the cars slowed to look at us, you'd think I had "24601" emblazoned across my back.

"Can I have my phone back?" I asked at the end of my shift. The guard on duty was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't remember his name. He nodded, giving me a look I didn't understand, and passed me my cell.

I punched in my passcode and sat on the side of the highway, waiting for my dad to pick me up. My hated truck was on blocks, and my license had been confiscated because setting fire to a car meant I could no longer be trusted by Washington State to drive one. That was stupid logic, if you asked me. But no one was asking me my opinion on much since I torched the Rabbit.

"You okay?" the guard asked, and I nodded distractedly. There were messages on my phone from Jake: five voicemails, two texts, and twelve emails. I deleted them quickly and opened my Tweetdeck to check my mentions.

The Fail Whale could have been a field of crickets for all it mattered. Without Jake, I was essentially tweeting myself. I'd blocked him.

My friends back home had all but forgotten me already. Nice.

I toyed with the idea of texting Edward, but I was far too self-destructive at the moment to trust my fingers. Instead, I pulled a smoke out of my purse and stared at it, trying to remember what I was supposed to do next. I must have misplaced my lighter while committing arson.

"Bella?" The guard knelt down beside me and lit my smoke.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember me?"

"Sort of... are you a friend of Charlie's?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, lighting a cigarette of his own. "And Billy's. My name's Sam."

"Right. Hey, Sam." I had a vague memory of him from my summers in Forks. Dad and Billy would buy bait from him and some of the other teenagers on the rez. I remembered Jake and his friends pathetically tried to emulate him like little whelps.

"So, Jake is kind of going ballistic," he mentioned absently, taking a drag off his cigarette.

"Shut the fuck up. Jake's an asshole." I watched the paper ignite in a slow burn, becoming randomly entranced by the sparks as they curled into ash. Shit, maybe I was becoming a pyromaniac.

"Bella, you gotta give the guy a chance to explain himself. The kid's torn up over what happened."

"I didn't realize you guys were friends," I said bitterly.

"Yeah, well... I watch out for the younger guys."

"How old are you, Sam?" I asked suddenly, remembering him being so much older than Jake and I when we were kids.

"Twenty-one," he said proudly.

"Can you give me a ride home? I think Charlie forgot about me," I lied, taking a closer look at his body. Something ugly and bitter twisted in my gut as I examined the zipper of his jeans and the way the fly strained at the crotch as he shifted on the curb.

"Well, sure." He offered me his hand, and we both stood up. His truck was parked a few feet away, but as I walked slowly, concocting a most terrible plan, the distance felt like miles.

"So why exactly are you championing him? He cheated on me, and I blew up his car. End of story." Sam unlocked the truck with his remote, and the door separated from the chassis easily when I opened it. Instantly, I was jealous of his non-rusted vehicle. Then again, some of us didn't have any wheels to speak of.

"Bella, despite what you did to his car, he cares about you a lot."

"How do you know?"

"He's been pumping me for information on you ever since I told him you were on my refuse shift," he explained, wrenching the gearshift into reverse.

"Great," I mumbled, feeling hot tears prick at my eyes. I steeled myself against a breakdown, taking deep breaths and counting by twos. It was an exercise Dr. Banner had taught me to distract myself during a panic attack.

"He only wants to talk to you, Bella. You owe him that." I noticed he was getting on the 101 South, and I panicked.

"What the fuck, Sam? Where are you taking me?"

"La Push," he said.

"You're kidnapping me?"

"I'm not!" He had the audacity to look offended. I tried to grab the wheel, but he removed my hand easily and held it in his. "Calm down, okay? Just let him explain himself..."

"Pull over, Sam. I need to tell you something very serious."

"Tell me while I'm driving."

"I can't," I said and promptly burst into tears.

"Aw, shit, Bella. Please don't cry?" He patted my shoulder awkwardly. "We're almost there. Jake's not mad at you. Hell, Billy's not even that pissed off."

"P-Please... it's not about Jake." I hiccupped through my tears and kept pleading until Sam relented. He threw a hurried glance at me, checked his blind spot, and carefully veered off onto the soft shoulder.

When the parking brake was finally up, he turned to me and asked, "What's so serious?"

I wiped the tears out of my eyes and undid my seatbelt. "How long has it been since you got laid?" My voice was no longer shaking as I asked this. "I mean, really fucked, Sam, by a sweet, tight pussy."

"W-What?" he stuttered.

"I'm going to fuck you," I explained, reaching over him to pull the lever adjacent to his seat. The chair reclined back, and he let out a surprised grunt.

"No," he said weakly. "What? No..."

"Why not?" I asked, placing my hand on his firm thigh. His quad flexed automatically under my touch. "Don't you want to fuck me?"

"No," he said quickly.

"Really? Because your dick seems to like me." My hand skittered up his leg and rested on his warm bulge.

"Don't," he said but made no move to push me away.

"Don't? Why not?" I rubbed him through his jeans and leaned forward so I could lift the hem of his shirt with my teeth.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned. I licked the line of his navel, stopping at the button of his fly.

"Should I stop?"

"Yes... no... I don't know."

I took that as an invitation into his pants but asked again, "So, you don't want a blowjob, then?"

"Oh, fuck. Bella, I don't think..."

"Yeah, don't think. Just feel," I encouraged him, but I was talking to myself too. "Can I suck your cock? I think it'll make me feel better." I really, really wanted to, but for the life of me, I didn't understand why.

"How old are you?" he asked, cupping the back of my head in his palm.

"Eighteen," I assured him, even though technically my birthday wasn't for another few days.

"Alright."

"Alright, what?" I breathed against his stomach, watching his abs ripple reflexively.

"Suck my cock... please. I mean, if you want to." There was a strange mix of desperation and indecision in his voice. His eyes were huge, begging me to continue and pleading with me to stop all at once.

Desire won over morality as he urged my head down, holding it in place at his fly as if he wasn't sure what to do next. Instinct took over. In a sudden flurry of activity, I lowered his zipper while he lifted his hips off the seat and shimmied his pants down. His dick strained against his underwear, and there was a wet spot on the material I rubbed my thumb over lightly. I was rewarded with a throaty moan, and I dipped my head down flat against his crotch to kiss his tip as it popped through the slit in his boxers.

"Shit... oh, fuck... please suck me?" he begged, lowering his hand from my head to my breast.

A strangled moan tore through me. I parted my lips and sucked on the head of his cock for a moment before drawing him further over my tongue and tightening my lips. When I felt him at my throat, I drew back up along his shaft, sucking and licking while he throbbed in my mouth. He left one hand on my tit, tangling the other into my hair, urging me back down and up, and down again. It seemed he wanted to set a faster pace than I had initiated.

_Eager beaver_, I smirked to myself and fisted the base of his cock. He bucked and swore, and I cried out, cupping his balls with my free hand.

"Bella... slow down, sweetheart. I'm gonna come." He tried to hold my head in place, but I ignored him, pumping my hand furiously up his shaft while sucking on his cockhead. His balls became tight under my fingers, and I quickly moved my face away, helping him ride out his ejaculation with my hand.

"Fuck," he wheezed out and squeezed his eyes shut. There was so much jizz. _Wow, he must not whack off a lot_, I mused, pumping him a few more times.

"All done?" I asked, wiping my hands off on his pants. He nodded in response, and I crawled back into my seat.

We were both silent for several minutes before he finally spoke.

"Do you want me to make you come?" he asked awkwardly. "I could go down on you if you want."

"I don't come," I snapped.

"Oh." He looked ahead and fidgeted, as if uncertain of what to do next.

"I think I'm going to call a friend to pick me up."

"I'll take you home," he said miserably. "I'm so sorry, Bella. I- I took advantage of you."

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up. You didn't." I grabbed my phone and unlocked it. "I took advantage of you."

"You're so hurt by Jake... I shouldn't have let you-"

"You were a goner, Sam, as soon as I figured out who you were."

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Exacting my pound of flesh."

The car was ashes, but it didn't feel like enough. An eye for an eye was great in theory, but what was I supposed to do when my soul was destroyed. What body part could I take in trade?

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, that's because I'm being cryptic. Thanks for the ride, but this is where I get off." A hot thrill shot through me, as if my misery was brought to orgasm.

"Are you texting your father to pick you up?"

"No," I said smugly. "I'm updating my Facebook status."

**A/N - I know, I know. You wanted Sex-Hair and I gave you Sam. Don't blame me; my outline made me do it. Stay with me? **

**Reviews make my pocket very happy. Don't forget to tip your waitress ;P**


	14. Dark Poetry

**Author's Note: Big love to jkane180 and mac214 for the beta, and also to DoUTrustMe and cryptthing for pre-reading. This chapter is a little dark.**

Facebook Status: None

I pressed my fingers into the underside of my desk and chewed so hard on my lower lip I drew blood. My phone was at home. My skin was crawling. This wasn't good.

I could deal with losing, well, everything, but I no longer remembered why a moratorium on wireless devices seemed like a good idea. What was I thinking?

The clock on the wall ceased keeping time; meanwhile, the gerbil on the exercise wheel in my mind stopped its fruitless running and glared at me accusingly.

_To protect yourself and others from your sociopathic Facebook updates_, the little fuzzy mind-rodent reminded me.

_What do you know? You're just a rat-thingy. You eat your young and poop where you drink. _Except now I was totally arguing with a figment of my imagination.

Also, said figment had better common sense than me.

Also, _also_, my conscience was a gerbil. That was just stupid.

I needed a fix. I needed to be jacked back into The Matrix.

"Bella?"

"What?" I answered automatically. Shit, it was a teacher speaking to me. "I mean, um, pardon me?"

"I was asking about your lit project. Have you chosen a book yet?"

"No," I snapped. "All of my choices seem to be on the burn-a-book list."

"Well, maybe if you'd open yourself up to some less controversial material," she said, probably trying to sound helpful but coming across as snarky.

"Fine. Choose something for me. I don't care." It occurred to me it honestly didn't matter. Why was I bothering with this shit? So long as she didn't make me read Austen or Dickens, I didn't care.

"_Pride and Prejudice_."

"Fuck, no!" I protested, and the class erupted into manic-sounding laughter.

Me and my dirty fucking mouth.

I ran out of class to find Jasper waiting for me outside, but I suspected he was just trying to make Alice jealous. It fucking worked. Her eyes practically bulged out of her head when she saw him drape his arm casually over my shoulder. It felt good there. I closed my eyes and leaned into him.

"Whoa," he said, bracing his leg to support my body as I all but melted into him. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. I just totally feel like singing "Lean on Me" all the sudden."

"I'll be your friend. I'll help you carry on." He smiled, and his entire face lit up.

"Well, aren't you fucking clever." What I meant to say was, "Why are you following me around?"

"I'm not. I mean, well, yeah, I sort of am. I wanted to talk to you about my sister." He looked nervous. "Not now though."

"Um, okay. Why not?" I followed his eyes to his evil miniature ex-girlfriend.

"Slumming much?" Alice's laughed, the sound of it effectively silencing us both. "Bella's not the only one picking up trash in the gutter," she said to Lauren. Her voice had a manic quality to it; the timbre was brittle and sharp all at once. She was glass. I wanted to tell her she was glass, but she wouldn't understand me. Actually, I really wanted to push her over and watch her shatter like a figurine.

Only Jake understood my broken poetry-speak. But Jake was a funeral pyre.

"There's no need to act like a cunt," Jasper snapped. Wow. I didn't know he used such ugly language. It was hot, and I toyed with the idea of making him my bitch, but one revenge blow job was kind of my limit for the week.

-({})-

Solace was what I craved. I grabbed my lunch and took it outside to the nearly-deserted quad. It was a dank day - the kind of weather that only appealed to the morbidly depressed. _Fucking apt_, I thought, pulling my peanut butter sandwich from my bag. I wasn't hungry. It was only a prop I held as I sat and looked longingly at Division Street, wishing I was in one of the passing cars, that I was anywhere but right here.

A motorcycle pulled up to the curb, and I gawked appreciatively at the leather-clad form that dismounted. He looked like Robocop - all shiny and dark and dangerous.

Except then he removed his helmet and hooked it onto the side of the seat, smoothing his hands over his newly shorn head.

One word tore out of me upon recognition of said head. "Traitor!"

It was a war-cry.

He knew he was under attack. He raised his hands in surrender, keeping them in the air as he took a step onto the curb.

"Fuck you!" I screamed and launched myself at him, tripping several times as I closed the distance between my bench and the curb. "Fuck you!"

I repeated it over and over again like a perverse mantra that, instead of calming me, fed my rage. I balled my hands into fists when I reached him, punching his chest, striking at every inch of muscle and flesh I could reach. "Fuck you," I repeated, opening my hands so I could slap him full on the face. The sound of my hand striking his skin barely echoed over my screams. He didn't try to ward me off. He kept his head bowed and suffered my pathetic blows, allowing me to hit him without complaint.

Damn it! Why didn't he fight back? There was no glory, no satisfaction, no justification, no revenge in this. I needed more! So I hit him harder each time and howled along with every blow. My broken heart raced as it stubbornly forced blood and adrenaline through my veins.

"Bells," he pleaded finally. "You're going to break your hand."

"Fuck you," I cursed lamely, my voice hoarse from screaming.

"Please? Let me talk to you for a minute."

"I'm going to burn your bike if you don't leave right now." It hurt too much, standing this close to him. It hurt to look at him. He was now the personification of my agony. It wasn't just that he didn't want me the way I wanted him. It was the betrayal. The asshole put me in a position that made it impossible to forgive him.

He was lost to me, and in losing him, I also relinquished the only solace I'd ever known.

The silence. I'd miss the silence so much - the way he could stop the terrible images from taking over my mind. I was raped by my own dark poetry on a daily basis, and no one but Jacob knew had to make it stop. Now I'd hit rock bottom. I was flat on my back in a deep well of despair, staring up at an endless night.

Overwhelmed by grief, I inadvertently started rambling.

"You pushed me down deeper into a grave of my own making, and I can't claw my way back. I'm stuck."

I'd never felt pain before like this.

Jake shook his head. "You don't understand... let me explain, and then I'll go away."

"There's nothing to explain. You were my lifeline, and now I'm interred in my own grief."

"You're not stuck, Bells. I'll help you out, I swear." It killed me that he understood my garbled metaphors. "I won't let you be stuck in the dark... no matter what."

"Ha! Throw me a rope, Jake, and I'll hang myself with it."

"Bells," Jake said, trying to pull me against him, but I bit his arm and he let go of me. "It's not what you think. I need to tell you what-"

"I'm not stupid," I hissed. "I know what you're going to tell me, and it's lame."

"You don't."

"Alright, Jake." I crossed my arms over my chest and allowed a bitter calm to come over me, slowing my rage. "Tell me about the imprint. Tell me about how you're a hypocrite just like your father. Leave me for this girl, and let me die."

Jake kicked his bike over. I'd gone too far, alluding to his mother.

"I came to tell you nothing happened with Leah," he said stiffly, his voice breaking. A bleak wave of emotion seemed to wash over him. I manged to pull him down to my level like a hell-bound undertow; the anguish was written all over his face.

"Clearly something happened." I hated him. I hated him so much for ruining this for me. I needed my revenge. How could I feel justified in his degradation when it hurt so fucking much to see him in pain?

"It didn't. I- well, I wanted something to happen, but I can fight this imprint thing, Bells. I swear. I'll stay away from her."

I wasn't expecting that. "What?" I asked dumbly. "What? But she's like your destiny or whatever. You can't just ignore her."

"Yeah, I can. All I have to do is stay away from her. I've already dropped out of this semester of school, and I'll transfer to Forks for the winter term." He smiled and wiped a tear out of my eye with his glove. "I'm so sorry, honey."

I looked at him incredulously. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" Why did he have to do this to me? This was kind of worse than him just being a horn-dog asshole. How was a psycho girl like me supposed to react to such chivalry?

"C'mon, Bells. I love you. I want to be with you."

"I'm fucking someone else now, Jake," I said quickly before I could stop myself. "So it doesn't matter." I took a step away from him and pulled my book bag over my shoulder. "Look... I'm really sorry about your car." A sob threatened to escape my throat. I swallowed thickly to stop it. "I'm just really mad and stuff... but I don't love you. Not like that."

"Just... stop lying. I know you're full of shit."

"No. I don't want you. I just want my revenge."

He kicked the side of his fallen bike and let loose a frustrated growl. "Do you have any idea what I'm giving up for you?" he raged.

"I don't want it. I don't want you."

"Don't do this..."

"Jake, if you really love me like you say you do, then leave me the fuck alone. Don't call me; don't email me. I never want to hear from you ever again. Do you understand?"

"You don't mean that," he hissed. "I'll leave, but I'm not giving up."

He would. I'd make sure of it.

-({})-

So, yeah. Totally not going to class after that. There needed to be some sort of melodrama pass for high school kids, like a hall pass or something. Too much sweat and hormones confined to one building made us all lust and rage-filled.

I was still in the quad where Jake left me. Time stood still, but hours had passed, and I was lying on the wet grass, scribbling poetry into my notepad.

The dim sky had brightened over the course of the afternoon, which just pissed me the fuck off because I hated when the weather didn't match my mood. I closed my eyes, still seeing red.

"Bella?"

"Present," I muttered, wiping the tears off my face with the sleeve of my shirt. I squinted, becoming momentarily blinded by Edward's hair. It was afire with the midday sun blaring through the coppery strands.

"You weren't in biology," he began tentatively.

"You're fucking Lauren," I replied.

"Um... not at the moment. How is that relevant?"

"I dunno. I thought we were both stating obvious facts. It doesn't matter though." I rolled onto my side and went fetal. "It's just that I can't imagine fucking random skanks is good for your recovery."

He sighed and sank into the grass beside me. "She's not a skank... but yeah, I'm not supposed to have sex."

"So don't. Just suck it up and do what you're supposed to do."

"Um, hello, pot? It's me, kettle."

"Oh, dude, I know I have problems. Why does it matter that I'm being hypocritical? It's still good advice. Keep your dick in your pants." Of course, now I was thinking about his dick and also wondering if his pubic hair was the same shade as the hair on his head. Would it be unruly too?

"What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly.

"Sex hair." Wait, did he know that was my nickname for him? Actually, now it was my secret name for his pubes. Why was I thinking about his pubes?

"I want to show you something."

"Neat," I said. "If it's your cock, I'm not interested." I was totally lying.

"It's not my cock. Come with me... and don't say without foreplay."

"Okay. Want to jerk off together then?" I cocked my eyebrow, and he groaned.

"You're going to be the death of me, pretty girl." He offered me his hand, and I took it.

"I'll come with you, but you should probably know I'm feeling very self-destructive at the moment. I can't promise you I'll behave."

"Will you show me what you wrote?" He was evading me. Good for him.

"I don't think my bad poetry will be good for your recovery."

"Humour me."

So I handed him my notepad, and he had the decency not to read aloud.

_But what if I could scream until I bleed,_  
_To block out your words?_  
_Don't cry into my open wounds;_  
_Your salt burns inside of me,_  
_And my knees are rubbed raw_  
_From crawling._

He was silent for a minute. I snatched my paper back and considered touching my breasts out of sheer desperation to diffuse the situation. What had possessed me to share my writing, my very raw and ugly poetry, with him?

"Want me to beat him up for you?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Nah, I already took care of it."

"He didn't deserve you."

I laughed hysterically at that. "He certainly didn't."

Jake deserved better.

Like a child, I wiped the tears out of my eyes again with the sleeve of my shirt and allowed Edward to lead me to his car. I was throwing myself at his mercy.

**A/N - My update schedule seems to be one a week for Stigmata Tomato and Don't Fear the Reaper (collab with the "Bob" to my "Doug" Mackenzie, DoUTrustMe). Reviews make my pocket vibrate, and make Flanny a happy girl! **

**Fic Rec: The Cullen Campaign, listed in my faves. So hot and funny and smart. I love a footnoted lemon. **

**Question: I joke about being Canadian all the time. What's the first thing you think of when you think of Canada? **

**Follow me on Twitter - BellaFlan**


	15. Dolly the Sheep and Edward's Confession

**Author's note: as always, the team of sick, masochistic lions who make my tomato sparkle are betas jkane180 and mac214, and pre-reader DoUTrustMe. The sacrificial lamb is cryptthing, but I'm not sure if he got a chance to pre-read or not before I posted. Shouts out to nowforruin and jewelzP for tweeting me through my "The Little Prince" crisis.**

Facebook Status: I'm a magician. Watch me make two fingers disappear.

"Bella?"

My eyes wouldn't open. They felt glued shut, and I could hardly summon the will to care. When I didn't reply to the annoying voice, it poked me in the sternum. Who the fuck would bother a sleeping arsonist?

_Arsonist._

Oh shit, I would be typecast now unless I did something spectacular soon... like launder money or create a new breed of animal through aggressive gene-splicing. I'd hate to be considered a one-trick pony... or pony-poodle, should my research grant come through. You know, the one I never applied for. Although, I _was_ in advanced placement biology. I could totally start splicing stuff if I set my mind to it.

_Wait, who am I speaking to?_

"Um, Bella?" Another poke to the ribs.

"Wha?" I mumbled through my drool.

"You're babbling about committing arson and creating monkeys with four asses."

"Am not!" I huffed. "Oh, shit." I seemed to have fallen asleep in Edward's car. The minty scent of his air freshener mingled with his musky cologne and made for an interesting olfactory experience. "Where are we?" I asked, stretching my arms over my head and sneezing.

"Um, my house," he said sheepishly. Not like a sheep but rather an embarrassed human. My mind was still foggy and obsessed with cross-breeding or cloning animals. Like Dolly. Except I was pretty sure Dolly was a goat, not a sheep.

"Oh my god, shut up!" There was a chance I was freaking out.

"But... I haven't really said much," Edward protested, running his hands through his crazy hair to smooth it down. Huh. I didn't much like it flattened. I wanted it all sex-hairy.

"Not you; my inner monologue. It's just... not right." Edward smiled at me as I spoke, staring into my eyes with an almost terrifying intensity. "Um, why are you looking at me like that?"

"You mean, besides the obvious?" He took my hand in his and examined our entwined fingers. I glared in response, having no fucking clue what he meant by "the obvious."

_Wait, I think Dolly _was_ a sheep. _

"I'm trying to figure out what you're thinking. You were mumbling in your sleep... and the way you write. It's weird. It's like deciphering code."

"Right now I'm thinking about Dolly; you know, that sheep that was cloned. I thought maybe she was a goat, but I'm pretty sure she's a sheep. Also, it got me thinking... arson is kind of like that old saying about goat fucking."

"Ah, yes, that age old goat-fucking axiom."

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. "You know that saying 'you paint one picture, and they don't call you a painter. But you fuck one goat and...' well, you know." I paused, taking stock of his bewildered expression.

"Go on," he said, almost breathlessly.

"Arson is the same way. I set fire to one car, and now everyone calls me 'that crazy bitch who set fire to her boyfriend's car.' It seems rather unfair. I've done lots of interesting stuff, but it doesn't matter. Arson will define me now." Then again, "arsonist" was certainly better than my previous moniker.

Whatever. I was having some sort of spastic episode rather than trying to charm the pants off Edward. Precious seconds were wasting away. I needed to practice the subtle art of seduction.

"So, you said something about showing me your cock?"

"Not my cock." He laughed. "But I've been dying to explain myself and show you... well, you should probably just come in."

"What if I asked really nicely? Would you show it to me?" I pressed.

"My cock, you mean?"

"Yeah-huh."

"Well, sure... I suppose. If you promise to only look but not touch."

"I think I could promise that," I lied. I was pretty sure I'd glom onto it upon first sight like sucker fish.

Suddenly, I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. I sought clumsily for the handle and kicked open the door, forgetting it wasn't my truck. "Aw shit, sorry," I said quickly as Edward winced.

"No dent, no foul." He took my hand and helped me out of the front seat like an otherworldly, sex-addicted gentleman. His hand felt so perfect holding mine that I forgot to be nervous. I closed my eyes for a second, relishing the feel of his skin on my own, even in such an innocent way. It was comforting.

"You okay?" he asked, and I realized I hadn't let go of his hand yet.

"Yeah," I replied to his sexy jaw, having lost the nerve to look him in the eye. He laughed lightly, dropping my hand, and I followed him up a pathway toward the house.

"Watch your step. Some of the trees have exposed roots."

What trees? My eyes were fixed on his high, firm ass. As far as I knew, we were surrounded by a herd of sheep eating baobabs.

-({})-

Edward's bedroom was really big, all dark leathers set against soft cream woods. It was opulent and clean... and terrible.

Too perfect.

"Um, where should I sit?" I eyed the bed suspiciously.

"Anywhere." He seemed distracted, kneeling down at his bedside table and opening the drawer.

"Are you sure this is really your room, or does it just play it on TV? I feel like I'm on the set of Big Brother or something."

He frowned. "Why are you insulting me?"

"Not you, dude - your room." I decided to sit on the leather couch. If I sat on the chair, he wouldn't be able to sit beside me and sitting on the bed just seemed too forward. Of course, I had mentioned I wanted to see his cock.

"I don't spend a lot of time in here."

"Oh, yeah? Where do you hang out?"

"Alice and I came back home last year." He was evading me. "We were in boarding school before that."

"Why did you come back?"

He grimaced. "We were expelled. Well, I was. Alice refused to stay if I didn't have to. Our other brother, Emmett, had graduated by then."

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't seem like he was going to explain any further. He pulled a notebook out of a meticulously organized drawer, setting it on the bed gingerly. He opened and closed the drawer three more times before exhaling a drawn-out, shaky breath. Was he nervous?

"Don't freak out, okay?" he pleaded.

"Um... what? Why?"

Wordlessly, he passed me a class photo and sat beside me. I narrowed my eyes at him questioningly, trying to decipher the significance of the picture. It took me about ten seconds of staring to realize I was in the picture.

"Why do you have this?" Nope, wasn't freaking out yet.

"Memories," he said simply, smiling wistfully.

"Yeah, but these are my memories."

"Mine too." He pointed to a small boy in the front row.

"You're telling me we were in first grade together?" I still wasn't freaking out... just confused.

"Yeah." He chuckled nervously. "I was pretty sure you didn't remember." He opened the notebook and handed it to me. "Read it," he said hoarsely.

It was a journal. Partly his, but mostly mine.

"I don't understand..." Okay, now I was freaking out a little. "You follow my blog? How do you even know who I am?" He'd printed out sections of my blog and pasted them into the notebook like a scrapbook.

"You were my first kiss," he said quickly.

"Bullshit." I'd never kissed him. I would have remembered something like that.

"Well, it was over eleven years ago." He smiled, and his face flushed, his jaw turning slightly redder than his cheeks.

"You've been following my blog for eleven years? Wait, I haven't been blogging for that long. I don't get it."

"Just this last year... don't freak out, okay? I'm not a creepy stalker."

"That remains to be seen. Do you sneak into my room at night and watch me while I sleep?" I was only sort of kidding.

"Just twice."

"Fuck you."

"Sorry! No, I'm kidding." The asshole was laughing, and I suddenly had the urge to punch him in the nuts, but I needed to find out what the fuck was up.

"You're looking at my therapy journal." He moved a little closer and flipped through a few pages. "Read this... it sort of explains everything."

_Banner asked me today if I think about anything other than pussy. Just like that, the guy uses the word "pussy," and I wonder if Dad knows the way his favourite therapist speaks to his patients. But it got me thinking about pussy, of course, since I never think about anything else anymore. I tell him I think about other things too, and I'm not really sure if I'm lying. He then asks me if I can think about a girl without thinking about fucking. I ask him if blow jobs count as fucking. He shrugs and says not according to Clinton, and I laugh because Clinton makes me think about having my dick sucked. Just like that, my cock is hard when I'm trying not to think about sex. So, yeah, I tell him I'm unable to think about oatmeal without thinking about pussy, let alone look at a girl and see her for anything beyond her twat. Well, then the asshole asks me about my mother, and I just about puke. No, I agree, I don't think about sex when I think about her... or my sister, thank fuck. Banner seems relieved. He asks me to look back and try to remember a girl, any girl I could think about in a "chaste" way. Sure, there's plenty of girls I don't want to fuck... ugly girls. He asks me about my first sexual experience, and I can't remember. He then asks me about my first kiss, which I'll never forget. Bella Swan, I tell him. We were six. She punched me in the arm for pulling her ponytail and then kissed me because I cried. She was so pretty, and she smelled like vanilla ice cream. What happened to her, he asks. She moved away at the end of first grade. He tells me to hold onto that feeling. The kiss. The smell of her hair. Hold onto it and remember what it felt like to be exhilarated by the simple pleasure of an innocent kiss. _

"Um... the fuck?" I asked. "You have me on some sort of sick pedestal for something I did when we were six?" Tears burned in my eyes. He'd made a fucking mistake. "So I exist as some sort of sick 'happy place' in your hornball head? Shit, Edward, you really picked the wrong fucking girl." I was nearly hysterical.

"No, you don't understand, Bella. I like you."

"You don't know me," I snapped.

"I've read every post on Sylvia Plath is Dead," he argued. "I bought the anthology your poem was published in."

"I want to go home now." I jumped off the couch and got nearly halfway down the stairs before he caught up with me.

"I'll take you back to your car, Bella. I'm really sorry, okay? I won't bother you anymore."

I turned to him and shuddered, taken aback by his expression. His eyes shined like maybe he was on the verge of tears. Crying. Over some idea of me he'd conjured up in his brain out of pure need and a patchwork of blog musings cut and pasted out of context.

He'd Frankensteined me into the perfect woman. I'd have to break him of his misapprehension.

"Okay, so I think you need to fuck me now," I explained clinically, grabbing his hand and leading him back to his room.

"Um, what?"

"Take your dick out and fuck me." It occurred to me I was being rude, so I added, "Please." I yanked him through the threshold of the bedroom and deposited him on the couch with a shove before sitting beside him.

"No. It's not a good idea." Hah! The guy admitted to getting horny from oatmeal and Bill Clinton. I was pretty sure I'd be able to seduce him.

"So you're a sexual compulsive. Big fucking deal," I taunted. "Poor Edward wants to fuck all the time. I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? At least you can... come." What the fuck did I just admit aloud?

"Wait, what?" His jaw dropped. "You don't come? Like ever?"

Wait, how did this suddenly become about me? "Fuck you," I spat.

"You've never had an orgasm?" He collapsed into the arm of the couch, leaning away from me and clutching a cushion so hard I thought it might explode.

"Yeah, I've come before. Just not in the last year... well, maybe once." My face burned. The last time I came was with my own hand with his name on my lips. "Can we change the subject?" I pleaded. Shit, I was going to start crying again; I was so humiliated. What had I been thinking? How could I have admitted something like that?

"Only once... in the last year?" He swallowed thickly.

"Yeah," I whispered.

"With who?"

"Whom," I corrected. "If you're going to quiz me about my sex life, I demand you use proper grammar."

"With whom? And stop evading."

Shit. He wanted to know. I'd totally tell him.

"With..."

Or maybe I could show him. What would he do if I showed him?

I jumped off the couch and faced him. "With..." Backing up until my legs were flush with his stupid, fancy bed, I waved two fingers at him.

"You made yourself come?" His pink tongue shot out, and he licked his lower lip.

"I fucked myself with my fingers," I admitted.

"Fuck."

"Yes. With my fingers." I let myself fall back onto the bed.

"What are you doing, Bella?"

I didn't answer him right away. Instead, I undid the fly of my jeans and dipped my hand inside my panties. "Brain surgery," I said breathlessly.

**Author's Note: yes, you've seen that trick before, if you've read Becoming Bella Swan. I find if you're practicing the subtle art of seduction, flicking the bean always gets the mister's attention.**

**Fic rec: Dead on my Feet by cesca marie. This was billed to me originally as a comedy, but the angst is crazy. Not for wuss pervs.**

**Stay tuned... for a huge contest announcement from the Twificpimps. We're buzzing with excitement like canon Alice.**

**Reviews give canon BellaFlan an orgasm.**


	16. Ambivalence

**A/N – Big love to Mac214 for another beta. I owe her a good time should she ever get her ass over to Toronto. Eskimo kisses to my partner in crime, DoUTrustme for pre-reading. Jkane180 is a little under the weather at the moment. I miss her! I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the fabulous SnowWhiteHeart for tweeting enthusiastically about Tomato yesterday! She's the author of the amazing fic Falling for the First Time.**

Facebook Status: I fucked Edward Cullen, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

This was the most humiliating experience of my life - or rather would be but only in retrospect. My current predicament afforded me the luxury of apathy. Sure, tears still coursed down my face as I writhed in front of Edward Cullen, but being emboldened by rage and despair had the curious effect of disassociating my thoughts from my actions.

I felt numb and alive, under his watchful gaze. He was captivated; his light green eyes, now a deep emerald, flashed wildly underneath his long lashes. He wanted me to stop but was desperate for me to keep going.

I felt absolutely everything and nothing at once, and I took a moment to revel at my emotional climate. This was pure ambivalence - and not in the often misunderstood definition of the word, but the true one: my mind was at war with strong and opposing impulses, feelings that were not the least bit compatible with one another. I wanted Edward to hate me and love me. I wanted to hurt and comfort him. I wanted pleasure and pain.

These emotions left me perched on the edge of a knife - the figurative kind - but I didn't seem to care at the moment if Edward tore me apart.

The freedom of not caring was glorious.

"You have nothing to prove," Edward practically hissed at me, even arching his back a little like a cat.

"Not true. You need to learn about chasing windmills." I was a real person, not a fantasy. I'd become flesh under his touch and burn the pedestal he'd trapped me on.

So what if I was about to masturbate in front of Sex-Hair? The bitch had it coming... even if I didn't - come, that is. I squeezed my eyes shut, concentrating on the sound of my hand pulling at the elastic of my panties while I gracelessly kicked my legs until my jeans shimmied down over my hips.

"Do you really think this is necessary?" he growled, his breaths coming in frenzied and quick gusts, almost like the respiration of a man in battle.

In battle with what?

_With himself and me._

Maybe he felt ambivalent too.

I kept my eyes closed and listened to him, to the metronome of his angry breathing. There was a cold comfort in the sound.

Still struggling with my jeans, I managed to tug them down to my ankles, and used my feet to pull them off. I heard them land with a thud beside the bed.

I stopped my ministrations for a moment and took a cleansing breath. "Totally necessary. Why? Do you want me to stop?" I held what was left of that breath and pushed a finger inside myself gently. My body was so tense I could barely manage to push in past the nail, but as Edward's ragged breathing took on a double-time tempo, I felt encouraged and managed to fuck myself properly with my index finger.

I opened my eyes.

Oh, god. He groaned a little like I was torturing him and palmed his crotch over his jeans. "Yes, just... don't." His fingers clutched a little at the material, and I could vaguely make out the shape of his erection.

"Why? Would you prefer to do it?"

He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat as he scraped a hand - the one that wasn't cupping his junk - up his face and into his hair, leaving a tousled mess in its wake.

"I think maybe we should call it a night." He stopped pawing at himself and looked down at me sadly.

"No." I raised my hips and slid my hands under the elastic sides of my underwear, snapping the material against my naked hip. "I refuse to be this girl... your Virgin Mary or whatever."

"I don't think of you like the Virgin Mary."

"You do. Lauren gets to be your whore while I'm relegated to the role of priss. I'm not the girl next door." I wiggled a little, closing my eyes again so no tears could betray me by sliding down my cheeks. The burning under my lids was a vague echo of the fury in my mind. He was compartmentalizing us, the women around him.

"Stop it," he ordered with finality. I heard him approach me slowly, and my fingers froze, feeling suddenly shy.

"I want you to do it," I said softly, removing my hand from my underwear. "I just... I want you." I opened my eyes and watched him look down at me. "Pretend I'm Lauren."

"I don't want you to be Lauren," he said, bending down over me. A shiver coursed through my body as he cupped the back of my head and placed an almost chaste kiss on my cheek. His lips lingered there for a moment. I turned my head slightly, our mouths seeking each other out like opposing ends of polarized magnets. His lips were so soft and sweet, meeting mine with feathery, slow pecks full of affection and so different from the tongue fucking I was accustomed to. My mind succumbed to my instincts, or rather, my need. My hands moved of their own volition into his messy hair, pulling his face even closer to mine. Dear Ezra Pound, it was bliss. I'd never known a kiss like it before. My entire body was on fire even though he was only stoking my lips.

"What do you want me to be?" I managed between kisses.

He responded by hooking his hand around my ankle and hitching my leg around his hip. "My Bella," he whispered into the hollow beneath my ear, still offering only the lightest of kisses.

This was a fairytale. Edward was the handsome prince, and I was the epitome of a damsel in distress. The thing was - if I didn't do something quick, I'd be apt to fall for this beautiful lie, and I knew myself well enough to know there was only so much I could take.

"Nut up, asshole, and fuck me properly."

"What?"

"I want your cock, like, now." His hand was on my lower back. I grabbed his wrist and redirected inside of my panties.

"Hey, slow down. There's no rush at-"

"Look, you know I want you, but if you're not willing, there are plenty of guys who are."

His eyes narrowed angrily. "Stop saying shit like that... this isn't like you."

"Oh my god, you're such a little cunt. You don't know me at all." I pushed him away from me, no longer in the mood to play mind games. "We're done here."

"You're upset... I know, Bella. Look, I've trusted you with some of my secrets. Maybe you can trust me with yours."

I didn't really know him either. That was the truth. I was drawn to him and I wanted him, but I didn't understand why.

"If you don't fuck me right now I'm heading over to Jasper Hale's house and giving him a blow job," I threatened. "There, now you know something secret about me. I'm a whore. Now fuck me like one."

His shirt hung down loosely around me, barely touching my arm as he leaned over me. I grabbed the hem and pulled him down flush against my chest.

"Call me a slut," I taunted.

"Shut the fuck up."

I gasped as his hand hooked into my panties and grazed my pubic bone. I wriggled, trying to encourage him to touch me, but instead, he found my fingers and threaded his through them, wrenching my hand over my head roughly. His dark, green eyes seemed to have hardened around the edges, his entire face appearing cold and broken. Did I do that to him? It was for the best. He needed to understand I wasn't the girl he thought I was. Fuck, I really wished I could be her... I refused to indulge in that fantasy, though, and my resolve would not waver.

"Use a condom," I muttered, no longer able to look at his eyes. I watched him procure a condom from under the mattress and rip the package open with his teeth.

"Fucking slut," Edward grumbled, rolling the latex over his shaft.

"Yeah, that's me." I wrapped my legs around his hips and waited. What would it feel like? Would it hurt, or would he be gentle? I think I wanted it to hurt. "You're a whore," I spat.

He growled and pushed into me, my eyes widening in shock at the pain that tore through me. "Ow," I whimpered, even though I didn't mean to.

Edward laughed meanly. "I'll take that as a compliment. I guess you usually fuck pencil dicks."

Somewhere above my own body I hovered watching him use my vagina to masturbate. It hurt so much. I didn't know there would be this much pain... the burning and tearing deep inside. "Stop," I pleaded. "It hurts."

"Bella?" The cruel expression on Edward's face melted away when he realized I was crying. "Was I too rough with you?"

I jumped off the bed and pulled my jeans on quickly, not even bothering to find my underwear.

"Don't be so smug," I managed to say without my voice trembling too much. "Your dick isn't that big. My vagina's just a pussy."

My shirt seemed to have disappeared so I grabbed Sex-hair's and threw it over my head quickly so I wouldn't be exposed. He'd seen enough of my battle scars for one night.

_He ripped open a new one._

Edward wasn't looking at me though. He was staring in horror at the blood stain on his bed.

"I don't understand," he stammered. "Are you having your period?"

"No. I would've told you if I was."

"But... the blood?"

"Just because I'd never had intercourse before today doesn't mean I've never been fucked." He had no clue all the ways I'd been fucked.

"Oh, christ... Bella, I'm so sorry. If you'd told me..." He staggered backwards and folded down onto the couch.

_You'd what?_

"Come here... I'm so fucking sorry." His voice cracked, and his pants were still curiously pooled around his ankles. He sat with his arms outstretched to me, but I didn't want his pity. "Why did you let me believe that you..."

"That I what?"

"That you're a slut."

I glared at him. "I am a slut... and so are you."

He threw me a hurt look and pulled his pants over his hips. "I fucked things up."

"Meh. It takes two to fuck."

"I like you, Bella," he said pathetically.

Yeah, and Dr. Cullen was worried Edward would be bad for my recovery. If only he knew what I just did to his little boy.

Someone should know, right?

In the electronic age, there is a new kind of confessional. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and updated my Facebook status.

-({})-

"I'll drive you to school tomorrow," Edward promised since I'd left my truck in the parking lot.

"Don't worry about it. My dad can drive me." I ignored the text messages on my phone and pulled up one of my favourite playlists to soothe my nerves. Tori Amos' "These Precious Things" seemed like an apt song choice. I almost giggled, plugging a bud into my ear.

"I'll drive you," he insisted. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Oh, shit." There was a motorcycle in my driveway and a very agitated looking Jake pacing around the bike. "Um, you should probably just let me off here, okay?"

"What? Why?"

I pointed to Jake. "He's going to beat you up for fucking me."

.

.

.

**A/N - public service announcement regarding orgasms: I've received a few PMs about Bella's inability to come. In her case, it's due to trauma from abuse, but I'd like to refer readers to an amazing post by Naughty Nurse at Perv Pack's Smut Shack http(:/)bit(.)ly/frECrp - remove brackets from link. I've shortened it to link directly with the post.**

**Was your first time difficult? I know mine was. Leave me a review, if you'd like. My phone is in my pocket just waiting to be buzzed.**


	17. Splintered Cell

**A/N: Smart Dick belongs to DoUTrustme - read Blame it on Rio! Thanks to Mac214 for the beta. I rushed through the pre-reading process to get out an early update. A lot is happening in the next few chapters and I want to offer updates as quickly as possible while the angst is high. I'll update again Sunday or Monday.**

Facebook Status: all I want for my birthday is a Smart Dick

"Hey, Jake. What brings you to my driveway this evening, looking all psychotic?" I hoped humour would help diffuse the situation, but Jake looked like he was about to explode out of his clothes like the Incredible Hulk.

"Is it true?" he yelled, hovering menacingly over us, his eyes dark and bruised a little, like he hadn't been sleeping. "Did he touch you?"

I looked warily at Edward. His face was ashen, and he looked positively nauseous with guilt. "Deny," I whispered.

He shook his head quickly and muttered what sounded like, "Please."

"Nah, Jake. It's not true. Calm down, okay?" I took a step away from Edward, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me to his side, hanging his arm around my shoulder heavily. "What the fuck?"

"Stay away from her!" Oh, shit. Poor Sex-hair was trying to sound menacing. So not good. Jake would rip him a new sphincter if they fought.

"Don't be a hero, asshole," I hissed. "Just go home, okay?"

Jake watched the exchange between us from his spot on the driveway, his face contorting from a sneer into a snicker as he wrestled with the appropriate reaction to our little standoff. "Can I come in, Bells?"

"Yeah, sure, Jake," I muttered, turning to face Edward.

Huh. Well, this was awkward. I felt like I should kiss him goodnight or some shit, but my unceremonious deflowering hardly constituted a date.

"You're letting _him_ in your house?" Edward asked in astonishment.

"Well, yeah. He's my best friend... or at least he used to be." I chewed nervously on my lower lip while he seemed to gather his courage to speak. "Jake, could you give us a minute?" I asked, dragging Edward by the wrist to what I hoped was a respectable distance from earshot.

"Please," he said. I wasn't sure if it was a question or not. He seemed to want to lead me back into his car, his hand landing on the small of my back and pushing me toward the Volvo.

"It's okay," I said softly.

"No, it's not. I mean, what the fuck just happened, Bella? You saved yourself... for that? I can't leave like this... leave you with _him_."

"He's my friend. I need him right now."

"Need _me_ instead," he begged, pressing his forehead against mine.

"I can't." I shook my head vigorously, trying to ignore the pained expression on his face. I wanted to comfort him but I wasn't sure how.

"I never should've taken you to my room." He punched the side of his car, swearing under his breath at the ensuing dent in the frame.

"That'll hammer right out," I said, even though I had no clue what I was talking about. "Also, you sort of punch like a girl. Keep your knuckle bed flat and your arm straight." Ten years of karate made me pretty tough for a waif.

"This is so fucked up."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and rubbed his back. "It's okay," I repeated. "I'm really glad it was you who took my virginity and not... someone else." I looked down at his expensive running shoes and adorable matching socks. He was coordinated, even in the midst of this terrible situation. It was sort of darling. "I'm sorry if I messed you up."

"Don't apologize," he snapped. "I made you bleed."

What did that have to do with anything? "Women are designed to bleed," I whispered.

-({})-

"You can do better," Jake grumbled. We were laying on my bed watching_ Inception _on my iPad, but he kept interrupting the goddamn movie with his running commentary on my life.

"Are you sure _nothing_ happened? I don't like the way he was looking at you... like you were something to eat."

"Do you think you could shut the fuck up? I'm having enough trouble following the plot of this without your constant kvetching." I disentangled myself from his embrace and scooted down to the foot of bed.

"Well, now you can't see the movie, tard," he taunted. I totally couldn't, and it didn't help that he was angling the screen away from me.

"Yeah, but at least I don't have to listen to you. Also, your breath smells like shit." It didn't. Jake always smelled really nice.

"Nah, your senses are just messed up now. Cullen probably smells like that sickly-sweet cologne rich assholes like to wear."

"Do you sniff a lot of asshole? Huh. No wonder you never went for my pussy. You're playing for the other team." He lunged for a pillow and threw it at me, the sudden shift of weight sending my iPad flying off the bed. "Fuck!"

"Aw, shit, Bells." He picked it up off the floor and gazed at me sadly. "Maybe it's better if you don't look."

"Is it broken?" I stood up on the bed, trying to get to his height to assess the damage. "Oh, fuck!" There was a hideous crack through my beautiful screen. That shit couldn't be fixed.

Grabbing the broken iPad out of his hand, I did the only rational thing I could think of - I burst into tears. "It was so young... it barely had a chance to really start living yet."

"I'll buy you a new one," Jake said quickly, pulling me into an awkward hug. His arms tightened around my butt as he lifted me off the bed and set me on the floor beside him.

"Don't be stupid." I grabbed a handful of his shirt and blew my nose into it. "I torched your Rabbit. This is barely even payback."

"I told you not to worry about the stupid truck." He rubbed my back gently and knelt down to kiss me. I turned my head quickly, offering him my cheek. "Bella," he complained.

"Jake," I mimicked in the same tone.

"Why won't you let me kiss you?"

"Because I don't like you that way. We're just friends." I _so_ wasn't in the mood for this conversation... not while I was in mourning for my beloved Apple-brand mobile device. My peripherals never even had a chance to arrive yet! I'd even sent away for a dildo attachment called the Smart Dick that I was super-excited to try out. Now I'd never know the joy of high-tech peen. Shit, it was even supposed to have some sort of muscle memory feature; Dildo Monthly had given it five cocks up, saying it would revolutionize the orgasm.

I really, really wanted to be revolutionary.

Of course, Jake being Jake, he wouldn't just let it go. He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his lips.

"How's Leah?" I asked meanly.

"I told you, there's nothing going on between us." His pained expression belied his profession.

"Bullshit. She's your impression."

"Imprint," he corrected.

"See! Don't pull that crap with me, Jake. And don't be a fucking hero. I never asked you to do that." I kicked him in the shin to get him to sit down and then bonked him on the side of the head with my palm, nearly breaking my finger on his ostensibly hard head.

"Ow, what's up with the violence?"

"I'm trying to knock some sense into you." I panted, sitting beside him. "Jake, I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Now get the fuck out of my house and find Leah. And don't screw it up!"

"No. You need me." He was such a petulant fuckhead.

"I need you as a friend, not an emo, douchebag, crap boyfriend." I kissed his cheek to soften the blow of my insult. I kissed his hand to calm him before dealing the knock-out, parting shot. "I gave my virginity to Edward Cullen tonight."

I never got the opportunity to explain any further. Jake punched a hole through my wall and Charlie hauled his ass out of the house.

-({})-

School sucked ass the next day. I tried to find Edward, but he was nowhere; meanwhile, Alice was everywhere.

When I reached the halfway mark of the day, I traversed the banks of the river Lethe, sans-oarsman. Edit that sentence to remove the hyperbole, and I was in the cafeteria, looking for a table. I stopped at the friendliest port I could find: the Hales.

Jasper and Rosalie were really fucking dynamic company. No, not really, but my lunchtime options were limited. I didn't dare sit at Edward's table, who had finally decided to make an appearance. The bastard sat with Lauren and his psychotic gnome of a sister. So far he hadn't even spared a glance my way.

I dropped my lunchbag on the table, unwrapped my tuna sandwich, and glared at him. "Fucking Cullen pieces of shit."

Rosalie cried purple tears in response to my curse like Lady Gaga. She hunched over her salad, violent sobs wracking her body. Even the lettuce wilted at her touch.

"What did I say?"

"The 'C' word," Jasper explained with forced cheerfulness.

"Did not!"

"Cullen," he clarified. "My sister used to date Emmett."

"Shut the fuck up!" Rosalie and I yelled in unison. She was pissed; I was just surprised.

"You dated Emmett?"

"Yeah," she mumbled.

"Huh. I've never met him." I rifled in my purse for some wet naps. "Let me fix your eyeliner," I ordered, and she obliged, scooting up closer to me on the bench so I could clean the ink off her cheeks. "If you're going to wear such bold colours, maybe you should invest in some waterproof products."

"Fuck you!" she cursed, careful not to move while I wiped around her eyes.

"Edward beat you to it," Jasper snickered.

"What?" I snapped. "Who told?" Did he fuck and tell? That bastard!

"You did. Your Facebook status is public, you know."

_Oh shit. I'm pathologically stupid._

-({})-

"Hey," I said timidly, joining Edward at our lab table.

"Hi," he replied curtly, glaring at me.

"Um, so you might have heard this nasty rumour that we had sex..."

"Yeah, I was there. I know what happened. What I don't understand is why you felt the need to broadcast it to the school." He pushed a microscope at me. "We're looking at slides... onion root or some shit."

"Look, I didn't exactly broadcast it, per se... I just posted it as my Facebook status. I'm an asshole, okay? I really wasn't thinking."

"No, you weren't," he snapped.

"I'm sorry."

"Fine."

Tears burned in my eyes. "Was she really angry?"

"Who?" Edward struggled to open the box of slides.

"Lauren."

"I don't give a fuck about Lauren," he said through gritted teeth, still trying to peel the tape off the box.

"Here, let me. You don't have any nails."

"I know _you_ do. At least, the scratch marks in my back are proof of it," he said loudly.

"I didn't scratch you," I protested.

"Sure you did. You scratched the shit out of me." Edward winked at Tyler and Eric at the table across from us. "She's a wildcat. Practically took my skin off trying to get me to fuck her harder."

"What are you doing?" I meant to sound pissed, but my voice was barely an audible whisper.

"Sharing with the class." He shrugged. "Since you don't seem to care about my privacy, I don't see why I should care about yours."

"You're being malicious, though... and lying. I never meant to hurt you." I couldn't look at him as I spoke. Instead, I peered at the slide under the lens. The cell wall was intact, and the chromosomes bunched together. "Slide one is early prophase."

He scribbled down the note and handed me another slide. "You're a bitch," he seethed.

"What? How am I a bitch?"

"Alice told me about the bragging you were doing."

I shook my head. "I wasn't..."

"Stuff it."

There was no use arguing. I couldn't convince him his own sister would lie to hurt him. "Metaphase," I whispered, looking at the coupled chromosomes. "And I didn't brag. I didn't mean for anyone in the school to know. I'm sorry." I pulled another slide out of the box. "I'm sorry you're so humiliated by me."

"Don't pull that shit."

"What shit?"

"You know what shit... trying to get me to feel sorry for you." He swallowed thickly, like it hurt him. "It won't work."

"I wasn't..." Was I?

"Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing last night."

These cells were harder to figure out. They were elongated and spindly, but they looked lonely... not yet mated. "Prophase... and I just wanted... I didn't want you to think I was-"

"Oh, I don't think you're _anything_ anymore. Don't worry."

"Okay." I wiped my eyes with my sleeve as the tears flooded over my lashes. "I went about this wrong... I'm not sure how I screwed up things between us so badly, but I really like you."

"No, you don't," he practically growled. "You like messing with me. I'm done."

The last cell was split in two. "Telophase."

-({})-

Eyes in the dark. I screamed, over and over again, but he was unfazed.

"She'll hear," I warned him, still thrashing against my bedframe.

I closed my eyes and waited for the weight to descend.

**A/N - Big Love for reading and reviewing! Updating this weekend will be one of my priorities. How did this chapter make you feel? I swear, there's beauty in the breakdown.**


	18. Ascension from Darkness

**A/N - Thank you to the best betas a girl could own, er, I mean, have: jkane180 and Mac214. Also love to DoUTrustme for the pre-read. This chapter is dedicated to my sister pimp of the twificpimps, altheajams for her stellar and thought provoking reviews. I love you bb!**

Facebook Status: none

"Bells, wake up, baby." His arms were on me. The nightmare continued.

In the dark I could only feel his heat. Maybe if I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could fade into the air like smoke; burnt out embers of fizzled need.

Another night of counting until I could count no longer. Another night of waiting for his disgusting passion for me to run dry. One, two, three, four... I would gag, and he would push deeper. Not even my vomit was a deterrent.

I couldn't do it again. I'd sooner choose death.

"I'll scream," I threatened in a whimper. "If you put it in my mouth, I'll bite."

_She'll never believe you. She knows you've been coming onto me since you were twelve, you little whore. _

Screams filled my head and spilled out of my mouth. The eyes in the dark retreated for a moment, before light from my bedside lamp dispersed the image. I rubbed my eyes and cursed, jostled out of my nightmare.

"Bells?"

"Dad?"

"Hey, now..." He sat beside me on my bed. "What's the matter?"

"Sorry... just a bad dream. I'm fine." I wrapped my arms around my chest to keep myself from falling apart. I was unraveling - a thread on a spindle, and I couldn't make the spinning stop.

"Come here, Bells." Charlie pulled me into his lap and rubbed my hair. "I've got you."

_Come here, Isabella. I've got you. _

"Don't touch me!" I screamed, punching him in the jaw. The shadows on the wall descended upon me, and I was overcome with grief. Closing my eyes was the only way to avoid being swallowed by the infinite black. Darkness creeps that way, slowly and steadily until everything is consumed.

But the weight wasn't over me this time. I was sitting upright, cradling my fist. My hand was still clenched into a ball, and my knuckles were tender from a fresh bruise.

"I'm calling your doctor."

"Oh, Dad... I didn't mean it... to hurt you. It was my dream."

Charlie looked at me sadly. "It's not the punches that bother me, baby girl. I want to know what happened to you in Phoenix that causes you to scream at night."

"I can't... no, Dad. Nothing. I'm just fucked-up. And what do you mean by punches?"

"I try..." His voice choked. "You don't let me hold you. I'm your Dad... I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know," I whispered hoarsely. His hand reached toward me, and I swatted it away without thinking.

"Who hurt you?" He became stoic before me, shifting out of "Dad mode" and into the role of "police chief." His brow hardened as he surveyed me.

"No one."

"Bullshit. You're acting like a victim."

"Please, Dad. I don't want to talk to you about... this. I'll talk to Dr. Banner."

"Fine," he said. "But I'm calling your mother."

-({})-

I'd never really been one to gush my heart out - at least, not in person. I mean, I'd been known to word vomit all over my blog at times... but, dude. I just pretty much shared every terrible, private and mean thought I'd had in the last six days with my therapist. And what was his reaction? Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. The silence in the room made made me want to hit something.

"Um, are you going to say something, or should I just leave?"

"You've had a busy week," Dr. Banner finally said.

"That's all you've got to say?" I gasped, kicking his desk.

He shrugged. "I knew about the arrest already. You missed a session due to public service responsibilities." He opened his desk and threw a lighter at me. "I'm trusting you with this." He winked.

"Um... okay?" I flicked the cheap Bic, igniting the flint. "Did I ever tell you about the midget in my pants who tells me to burn things?"

"You did not. Tell me more."

"His name's Sparky. He wants me to burn your furniture for being ugly. Don't be afraid. I'm doing you a favour."

"You're not an arsonist, Bella. You're an exhibitionist."

"Um, what? No! I'm like the opposite of an exhibitionist. I'm a hermit," I protested.

"With an addiction to Facebook?" He cocked an eyebrow in that annoying, psychoanalytical way.

"A hermit with Internet access." I shrugged.

"Will you allow me to make an observation?" Dr. Banner asked. "I mean it; I don't want to jam my advice down your throat - I want you to figure things out for yourself."

"Interesting choice of phrasing, but go ahead."

"You wanted the school to find out about your dalliance with young Mr. Cullen. You don't guard your secrets very closely because you crave the attention. If you valued your and Edward's privacy, you would've made sure your status was set to private... or, and this is me just going out on a limb here, you wouldn't have blogged about fucking him in the first place."

I hated Dr. Banner.

The motherfucker was right.

-({})-

My hand was beyond trembling as I stood in front of Edward's front door, regretting not popping a few Ativan in preparation for this confrontation. Except I wasn't here to confront him in an offensive way: this was "Operation Grovel." I couldn't bring myself to ring the doorbell, so instead, I rapped out a meek little knock.

An Alice look-alike opened the door, and I just about bolted upon the sight of her. Her eyes were what held me in place - they were blue, lightly etched with lines in the corners, and bright in an almost kind way. She also stood several inches taller than Alice... _oh_, and was way less constipated-looking. Huh. Idly, I wondered if Edward's sister needed a good laxative or some deep, anal intrusion... an ass raping would be my preference.

"Hello?" she greeted after we stared in silence at each other for a good minute and a half.

"Uh, hi." She was probably waiting for me to identify myself and state a purpose for being at her door. "I'm Bella... a friend of Edward's."

"Hello, Bella," she greeted politely, offering me a manicured hand. I gave it a limp shake, even though I felt like I should kiss it or some shit. "I'm Esme, Edward's mother."

Oh, crap... she was Alice's mother too, and I just totally looked her in the eye and thought about someone ass raping her daughter.

"You're really pretty," I stammered. "I mean, of course you'd be... Edward's sort of gorgeous so... it makes sense. Um, what I mean to ask is if Edward's home?" I looked down at her feet and noticed she was wearing really pretty little heels. I thought only people in the movies wore shoes in their house.

"He is, but he's composing right now. Is he expecting you?" She wasn't blocking my entrance into her home or anything, but I got the impression she wasn't overly thrilled by my presence. I bet she was really protective of her son. Why wouldn't she be? He was sweet and kind and beautiful when he wasn't acting like a douchebagging man-whore.

"Not exactly... um, I guess I could come back if now's not a good time."

"Don't be silly. I'll let Edward know you're here." She smiled almost warmly, motioning for me to wait in the front room just beyond the entryway. I shook my head discourteously.

"Could I just follow? I, um..."_ have severe anxiety issues and don't want to sit in this strange room alone. _"I don't mean to be rude, but I have some very peculiar boundary issues," I blabbered.

"Of course." She sighed, gazing at me as if she didn't want me to be there. "He likes to work on his music up in the loft... for privacy," she stressed, and I nodded again, reiterating it wasn't my intention to disrupt his life. Esme moved slowly and cautiously, demonstrating she was acting against her better judgement by leading me to her son, fighting her instincts. A mother should trust her instincts, and I feared this didn't bode well for me.

"Please," I said softly. "I'll be brief... I won't interrupt his, er, composition for very long. Honestly, I don't mean to be disruptive, but with all due respect, I firmly believe he really needs to see me."

Esme nodded and turned away from me, walking toward the main, massive staircase at a snail's pace. The walls were needlessly dark in the grand foyer; the sconces dimly lit like kerosene lamps. The general ambiance, coupled with my desperation to see Edward, made me feel like Eurydice, clawing her way out of the underworld. Each step Esme took, I mirrored with added caution, grateful she didn't turn back to look at me as Orpheus did to Eurydice. If she broke the spell, there was a chance I'd turn to dust. Already, I felt like I'd been subsisting on borrowed time, that maybe I was just a corpse on a shower floor back in Phoenix.

Oh, god, the darkness threatened to overtake me again.

That was when I heard music: the beautiful, rich, and dark chords of a melodic piano music. Perhaps Orpheus was the source of the music, not my guide out of Hades. Good thing, too, as that story really didn't end very well.

I stepped up on the slick surface of the glass stairs, clutching the banister so I wouldn't fall. Glass stairs... seemed like a law suit just waiting to happen! In my haste fleeing the house yesterday, I'd failed to notice what a deathtrap the ridiculous winding staircase was. Still shuffling behind Esme, my eyes squinted as everything seemed to become infinitesimally brighter with every ascension. Was it an optical illusion that the higher we climbed, the brighter everything seemed? Rainbows suddenly blinded me from the refracted light shining through a crystal chandelier. The colour waned and disappeared as we climbed above the massive light fixture.

Huh. You'd think I would've remembered a chandelier last time I was here. Maybe there was another staircase at the back of the house.

It wasn't my imagination though. I was indeed rising from the dark, from the ash, like a resurrected phoenix from the flame... or a girl from Phoenix, at least.

Whatever. I was coming alive; the sentiment was still there.

Darkness would not claim me, I vowed, still climbing the limitless stairs toward light. _Skyward toward Apollo,_ I thought lamely. Whenever panic seized me, my mind seemed to process thought as metaphor - crap metaphor and incongruous allusions.

"Wow... it's bright all the sudden," I said. Esme looked at me strangely, probably wondering if I was a simpleton. I smiled weakly, shielding my eyes from the sudden, blinding light. "What light from yonder window breaks?"

Esme laughed. "It is the eastern sky through our newly installed skylights... and fair Edward is the sun." She pointed to the loft studio while I threw up in my mouth a little. Then again, I was mixing Greek mythology and pseudo-Italian tragedy. Mixing allusions was just crass. Also, I was winded from the monumental climb. My brain clearly lacked oxygen.

"Oh, wow," I wheezed. "What is this?" There seemed to be only one room on the third level, and the door was slightly ajar. I could see what looked like egg cartons on the walls.

"The music room. It's completely sound proof."

"Neat." I took a few careful steps closer to the open door, mesmerized by the light tinkling of piano. "He's composing... this?"

Esme smiled patiently. "No, Bella. That's Chopin. I'm not sure why he isn't working on original music." A cloud passed over her face for a nearly imperceptible moment. "Edward," she called suddenly. "You have a visitor."

Oh, shit. For no reason I could think of, I started to chew the sleeve of my shirt. I pretty much wanted to stick my head under my collar like a turtle, but that would make this situation infinitely more awkward.

"Hi!" I said much too enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Mom," he said politely, betraying no emotion. I wondered if that was a good sign.

"Will Bella be joining us for dinner?" she asked Edward.

"Oh, no," I said quickly. "Thanks, though. My dad doesn't eat if I don't cook for him. Seriously. Before I moved to Forks, he thought Cheetos and beer was a well-rounded meal."

Edward seemed relieved, and I wondered if that was a _bad_ sign. Who the fuck could read the signs in this house?

"Okay. In that case, make sure your guest is gone before seven, Edward. I expect you to join us for dinner."

"She'll be gone long before then," he muttered tersely. Yeah, not a good sign. All signs pointed to crap.

"Let me know if you need anything." Esme's tone was gracious, but beneath the surface, I could discern a mother-bear menacing growl. She did not want me upsetting her son. I wished I could assure her I wouldn't hurt him. She turned out of the room, her shadow waning as she descended the stairs.

"Okay," I said quickly. "Before you throw my ass out of your house, which I totally deserve by the way, please just let me apologize? And don't look at me like that. I totally know you're about to say 'apologize, then', all stiff and guy-like. This is real, though, Edward. I honestly am so horribly sorry for what I did. I tricked you into fucking me. I made you think I was sexually experienced, and that I could be an easy lay. My motives were fucked up, and my instincts are just perversely backwards."

Edward sat stoically at his piano for a moment, his entire body seemingly wrought with tension. He swallowed, squeaking out a strangled noise that sounded almost like a muted sob before pounding out a few minor chords. The music was dark and violent, growing darker still when his fingers curled into fists, mashing the keys to create a rhythmic groan rather than a melody. Even in the disjointed chaos of sound, there was music.

"Please stop?" I begged. "Don't hurt the piano... it's so beautiful."

"I hurt you... Bella, I'm so sorry."

"Please, don't? This is my apology. Let me give it to you." I sat beside him on the bench and plucked lightly at the keys. I wasn't a great musician, but I had an almost intrinsic sense of harmony. "What were you playing?"

"Um," he choked out, looking curiously at my hands on the ivories. I wondered if I should remove them... if I was making him uncomfortable. "_Sleeping Sickness_ by _City and Colour_."

"Play it a little softer," I instructed him. "Transpose it up a tone, maybe?"

He nodded, playing a modified melody effortlessly. With my right hand, I crudely tapped out the harmony line and sang along. "Someone come and save my life. Maybe I'll sleep when I'm dead, but for now it's like the night is taking sides. All the worries that occupy the back of my mind... could it be this misery will suffice?"

"Bella," he whispered, still playing. "That's beautiful."

"I like you," I replied simply. "I want to help you... I want to be the girl in your journal. I mean, I'm not her yet, but maybe..."

"What I said... I don't want you to be anyone but you."

I smiled. "Okay."

"That stuff I said in school... about you begging me to... I can't even say it. I'll clear your name though; I promise." He rested his head against my shoulder.

"Don't promise me anything. I'm trying to keep my expectations low here so I won't be destroyed."

He nodded, offering no promises that he wouldn't hurt me. I appreciated it, that he didn't lie to me.

"What are we?" he asked, sounding so much like a child.

"Friends?"

"Friends," he repeated. "Well, I guess we could try... I'm probably not the best kind of friend for you though." He frowned. "But I'll try not to hurt you."

"I promise to try not to hurt you too." My cheeks hurt, and I noticed I was smiling.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Do friends make out?"

I laughed and pushed him off the seat.

**A/N - Google City and Colour to hear the song "Sleeping Sickness." It's beautiful. We're posting a year in review episode tonight or tomorrow of the Twific Pimps podcast. Listen to our sexy (ha!) voices for some great fic recs of 2010.**

**My husband is getting me an iPhone 4 for Christmas. Please review me for one last buzz on my iPhone 3? Big Black has given me soooo many happy memories thanks to your review buzzes. Big inappropriate love!**


	19. Birthday Wishes and Bloody Kleenex

**A/N - I have mad, inappropriate love for Mac214. Thanks for the beta (and the chocolate). I've been naughty. I posted before Jkane180 or DoUTrustMe could read it. Please forgive me ladies?  
**

Facebook status: If you can read this, you're driving too close.

Holy crap! There was a silver Volvo in my driveway. I nearly skidded right into it, careening down my driveway in my usual graceless fashion. Luckily, I landed a few feet away from the car, my ass breaking my fall.

"Bella? Are you okay?" Sex-hair asked, sounding adorably concerned. In the fog, I hadn't noticed him leaning against the car like a trade show model. He knelt down beside me, barely concealing his asymmetrical smirk. I wanted to run my hands through his crazy hair and maybe lick him a little . . . okay, a lot.

"Great!" I said automatically, grasping his hand and allowing him to help me to my feet. "Really good, actually. What're you doing here?"

"Well . . ." he said slowly, rubbing the snow off my hand. "I thought maybe you'd let me drive you to school today?"

"Um . . . sure." There was a hesitation in my voice I hadn't intended to be so blatant.

"What's wrong?" He frowned, still rubbing my hand.

"Well, it's just that I don't want to give people the wrong idea . . . about us." Could I snuggle into his chest, or would that be inappropriate? He looked so warm and beautiful and sexy and delicious . . .

"I think I already gave people the wrong idea about us in biology class. I want to rectify it."

"You said rectify!" I snickered, using the opportunity of the anal-like word to poke him in the ass. He retaliated by shoving my shoulder playfully, causing me to crumple back against the car. "Shit," I swore, grasping the side mirror to steady myself. I stood quickly - too quickly - and my feet slid from under me.

"Oh, fuck!"

Yeah, what he said. I landed on my knees, my arms shooting out to absorb the impact, but I still managed to bang my face against the driveway. I hadn't even noticed at first, it happened so quickly, but my nose throbbed with a searing, sudden pain. Shit, I'd totally suffered another spastic episode in front of the one guy I was desperate to maintain some semblance of normalcy in front of.

Maybe gravity had ordered a hit on me or some shit. Professional tumblers would have had trouble achieving the wipe-out I had just managed.

I pressed my fingers gingerly to my nostril, feeling something wet and hot sluicing out of it.

"It's bleeding," I said in a defeated voice.

"Yeah, baby. Come into my car... I've got Kleenex."

Holy fucking crow; it was like déjà vu all over again!

"Why do you have Kleenex in your car... and, um, did you just call me baby?" My voice sounded strange - nasally, like I had a cold or something.

He opened the passenger door and held onto my right arm to keep me steady as I climbed into the car. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He chuckled, popping the glove compartment.

"Is there lube and lotion in there too?"

"Shut the fuck up, Swan." He pressed the Kleenex to my nose, pinching the bridge of it lightly. "You're making it very difficult for me not to ravage you when you use words like 'lube'."

I snorted, sending blood flying out of the tissue. "Shit... I'm disgusting."

"It's cute." He smiled, and my heart kind of melted. "I like it when you blow bloody boogers on me. It's sort of our thing."

"Oh my god, stop pawing at my nose!" I grabbed the Kleenex and pushed him out of my seat. "Just drive, okay?"

"But your nose-"

"I don't need any help bleeding over here. I've got lots of practice. Also, I refuse to indulge your nose bleeding fetish. Clearly, you're deranged."

"I'm trying very hard to be a Boy Scout though." He saluted me and closed the passenger door. I watched him move to the driver's side, watched him climb into the seat without breaking his nose. I gawked at his beautiful, long fingers as they grabbed the stick, and I held my breath while his strong leg released the clutch.

Watching . . . gawking . . . coveting. Whatever.

"Stop checking me out."

Thank fuck Charlie had left for work already and didn't witness Edward's Mario Andretti impression as he kicked the Volvo into third, seemingly skipping second, the car taking off like a bullet.

It was hot.

"I can't help it." I sighed. "You're sexy." I balled the Kleenex and dropped it into his jacket pocket. "That's for you, you sick fuck."

"I love it when you offer me your blood . . . I mean, when you bleed on me . . . oh, shit." He dropped the car down to second gear, veering toward the curb on the slick road, and I feared he was about to have some sort of breakdown.

"Hey, stop it!" I ordered, lowering my head to his shoulder. "You're not allowed to feel guilty about . . . that." I wanted to take his hand, to comfort him, but the last time we shifted gears together, things got a little over-heated, and I wasn't referring to a burnt-out clutch. His proximity to me was hard enough to deal with without throwing phallic objects into the mix. God help me if he pulled out a banana . . . "That wasn't your fault." _Don't think about Edward and a banana. Don't think about Edward and a banana . . ._

"So you keep saying . . . what are you thinking about?" He shot a glance at me, turning onto Division Street.

"Oh my fuck! You always ask me that at the worst possible time." I put my hand on his thigh, leaning further into his shoulder. "We can't make out," I said inexplicably.

"O-okay."

"It's not a good idea." My hands tightened on his thigh, and he responded by flexing his quad.

"You said that already. You know how I feel... but I don't want to push."

"Shut the fuck up!" I planted a tiny little kiss on his cheek and wow! It felt like I'd been hit by lightning. "Wait, how _do_ you feel? I have no fucking clue!"

"Not saying a word." He sounded breathless.

"Well . . . maybe we could, I dunno, kiss a little. Will you tell me how you feel if I let you kiss me?"

We were only half a mile away from the school, but he jerked the wheel suddenly, wrenching the car over to the side of the road with a grinding halt. Before the parking brake was even deployed, his mouth was on mine. I gasped, biting his lower lip for a moment before I realized what was happening. Oh, fuck, he's kissing me, my mind cheered, and my body clumsily tried to keep up with it as we sought out each other's mouths. At first we were a little rough, all clashing tongues and teeth, and I moaned softly before I could stop myself, trying to pull Edward on top of me, harder, closer; he couldn't be close enough.

"Please!" I begged, unsure of what I was asking for. He pressed his mouth firmly against mine once more before pulling away, and I groaned petulantly in annoyance.

"Too fast," he whispered, rubbing my jaw softly and staring at me, his green eyes seemingly in awe of something he saw in my face.

What the fuck did he see? I was about to ask when his head dipped down to kiss me again. He was taking the lead, making me hold back just a little when I was desperate to devour him. And it was unnerving! He offered me reverent, sweet, sweet, so sweet little kisses, and I lost my hands in his messy hair, pulling him and pushing him like a bitch in heat.

I couldn't help myself.

I wanted more. All of him. Now.

Everything about his mouth and his hair was soft and sweet, but I wanted hard and firm, to grind myself against his rough edges.

But no. He only offered me softness.

"Give me more," I pleaded, and a little smile played upon his lips.

"Carefully," he warned me.

"Please . . . I want more." Because I was fucking Oliver Twist all of the sudden.

This kiss started slowly again, despite the almost desperate way he clung to my waist; he was very careful with me, caressing my lips with his languidly. To the casual observer, it probably looked like we were tongue-fucking, but we were actually sharing a seemingly unending string of small kisses.

"Let's skip school today and do this instead," I panted.

"Sounds good." His breath vibrated against my mouth as he spoke. "Although . . ." he trailed off and kissed the divot under my nose in a strangely erotic way.

"What?"

"You told me you have an essay due this morning." His breath was sweet torture in my ear, and I nearly screamed at the unnervingly hot sensation of his teeth nipping my earlobe. My head fell back and lolled to the side.

"Don't care."

"Okay," he agreed.

"Shit . . . yeah, I do care." I pushed him away from me, and he actually pouted. "Let's skip this afternoon. We could hang out at my house, if you want."

"Shit, Bella," he began while licking the hollow under my ear. "I want."

-({})-

My morning classes passed by in a blur of vaguely irritating noise while I replayed Edward's kiss in my daydreams, my stomach dropping like I was flying at zero-gravity as I recalled the heat of his mouth against my own.

Shit. I wanted more. So much more.

And I really wasn't in any position to take any more.

By the time the lunch bell rang, I was already out of my seat and running toward the parking lot.

"Bella!" A saccharine voice called after me. I turned around and saw a blur of blond hair and dark denim chasing me through the quad. Trying to evade her, I ducked between the Language Arts building and the gym, taking a roundabout route to Edward's car. I paused to rub a stitch in my side and wheeze like an asthmatic.

The movie _Zombieland _had it right: cardio training was essential when trying to outrun brainless maneaters.

"Wait up!"

"Fuck, no." I kept running.

"I have his underwear," the voice taunted.

I turned around and saw Lauren, pink-cheeked and out of breath, her aquamarine eyes half-crazed.

"Boxers?"

"Boxer briefs," she announced smugly. "Blue."

"Why are you telling me this?" He was mine! Well, no, not really . . . but he could be, maybe. I wouldn't let her jealousy ruin this for me.

"Just so you don't get the wrong idea, you should know what the deal is." She had the audacity to actually hand the briefs to me. "I'm not a bad person, Bella. I just wanted to tell you whatever sweet lines he's fed you to get in your panties, he's probably already used on half the student body here."

"I don't believe you!" I snapped, and she shook her head sadly.

"Look, as long as you don't take things too seriously, you won't get hurt." She smiled sweetly, waving at something behind me. I whipped my head around in time to see Edward approach us, his hands in his pockets and his face revealing nothing beyond a guarded expression.

"I missed you in class this morning," she said with a strange half-smile.

"What's going on?" He looked between Lauren and me while I desperately tried to ball up the offending drawers and hide them in my pocket.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"Have fun, kids," she sang.

"Bella?"

"Nothing!" I insisted, grabbing his hand in mine. "Let's just get out of here, okay?"

"Look," he said, pulling me into a hug. He lowered his lips to my ear and kissed me before speaking again. "Nothing's going on anymore between us."

"I know," I told him because I believed him.

"You don't have to feel inferior to her."

"How the fuck did you know-"

"I know you. You think I don't, but I do."

There were some things I didn't want him to know, though! For one, that I was an insecure freak who was jealous of bitches like Lauren.

"Trust me, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, handing him back his underwear. "Are these yours?"

"Y-yeah..." he stuttered in horror. "But it's not what you think."

"When was the last time you fucked Lauren?"

"Two weeks ago," he said quickly.

"Okay." I wrapped my arms around his neck, standing up on my toes to kiss him. He met my lips in surprise. "Let's get out of here."

"You're not angry?" His voice squeaked at nearly an octave higher than it should have.

"That you fucked Lauren two weeks ago? Nah. Can we not talk about it?"

"Um, okay," he agreed, pulling me tighter to him. "What do you want to talk about instead?"

"Celebrations."

"Okay. What're we celebrating?"

"My birthday," I said, smiling. "I turned eighteen today."

"Holy, fuck, Bella! It's your birthday? Why didn't you say anything?"

I shrugged, trying to seem like it didn't really matter. "I don't usually celebrate. This year, though, there's something I really, really want."

"And what's that?" he asked, nuzzling that same goddamn spot beneath my ear that he seemed to like so much.

"I want to come," I told him.

"Come where?"

"On your face."

**A/N - Thank you for your amazing reviews and Happy New Year! Big Love to all, and to all a good night. **

**I'm putting my phone beside my husband's head because I'm pissed off at him. Every time you review me, it will beep and wake him up.**

**Oh, and the next chapter will have a lemon . . . you know, if you're into that kind of thing.  
**


	20. Birthday Present

**Author's Note: Beer makes this story better! Thanks to mac214 (who just changed her name to confuse me . . . something about so long and thanks for all the fish) and jkane180 for the beta, and DoUTrustMe for pre-reading me and helping me be a little sweeter. This chapter is a lemon.**

Facebook Status: He's mine, bitch.

Edward Cullen commented: It's true. I'm hers.

I couldn't bring myself to regret this decision. Edward held my hand, our entwined fingers shaking his entire arm with my anxious trembling.

"You're sure?" he asked quietly, leaning down to kiss my forehead. I nodded in response and pulled him up the narrow staircase leading to my room - the same staircase I climbed every night. The context of this particularly extraordinary ascension made everything about my house seem mundane in comparison. I pushed him back against the wall for a moment to kiss his jaw; the muscle at the juncture where the bones met spasmed under my hot mouth.

His face . . . it was just too beautiful to be set in contrast with the wall here; the paint was chipped, the off-white colour all but faded. I wanted to trace his mouth with my hands, to feel him under my fingers as proof he was real, that he wouldn't disappear like a mirage - an oasis to a woman dying of thirst in the desert.

I was so thirsty.

And he was so fucking beautiful.

Shit, now I'd never be able to look at the staircase again without disdain. The stairs would be horrendous without Edward now that he'd graced them with his beautiful feet. The dull beige, thread-bare carpet was pretty ugly as it was.

Huh. This was seriously what was going through my head while I led the most beautiful boy in the history of cock to my bedroom for a little afternoon-delight-cunnilingus.

Suffice it to say, I had serious issues.

"Bella," Edward groaned. "You're driving me crazy. Please . . . tell me what you're thinking."

"You're too beautiful for these walls, and I want you to tongue my clit." Apparently, the filter that was supposed to trap the crap my brain spewed into my mouth was malfunctioning. I was going to give honesty a try. Maybe I'd scare him away. "Also, I really hate this carpet, and I kind of wish I had the foresight to have gotten a wax. I could shave if you want."

His face broke out into a grin, and I couldn't tell if it was derisive or not.

"What are you thinking?" I pleaded.

"I want to be good enough for you; I want to make up for what I did to you." He looked down at his beautiful feet and my ugly carpet. "I really, really don't want to fuck this up."

"Edward." I tried to say his name calmly, but my entire body vibrated with fear and need. An electricity seemed to flow between us, as if our nervous systems were inexorably intertwined. "It's like you have a mainline jack into me somehow."

He smirked. "Not currently." _Electrical current. _

We reached the top of the staircase, and he pushed me against the bathroom door. "I'd like to be jacked into you," he said, leaving me breathless. "Shit, you should shut me up."

"Nah, I set myself up for that, comparing myself to an outlet." I giggled nervously and lowered my head in embarrassment, feeling my face flush.

"Hey." He cupped my chin and angled my face so I was forced to look at him. "Don't be nervous or ashamed." He licked his lips and pressed them gently against mine. "I just want to make you feel good. This is all about you, Bella," he murmured against my mouth, and my tongue shot out to lick his lip as he spoke. "No one's ever properly taken care of you?"

"What do you mean?"

He lowered his hand to my inner thigh and squeezed gently before cupping my pussy over my jeans. Instantly, I liquefied. "Made it all about you . . . your pleasure."

I shook my head and gaped at him. I was pretty sure my eyes were saucers, that was until he started playing me like a piano, pressing into my pants in all the right places. My head fell back against the door, and I cried out, swore, begged for him to touch me beneath my panties. I wasn't sure exactly what I was saying, only that I was pleading for more of what he'd just given me a taste of. _Happy birthday to me!_

"Open the door," he practically growled.

"Why? Do you have to pee?" My voice was a moan. "This is the bathroom."

He lifted me off the ground, using the door for leverage, and my legs automatically wrapped around his waist. I could feel his erection straining against my pussy, even through all the layers of clothing between us.

He wanted me.

"Your room?"

"Behind you."

"Need to get you naked now." He retreated until his back hit my door, and I still clung desperately to him.

"Yes, please."

"I think I need to put you down to open the door," he apologized.

"Don't ever let go." I was a little irrational.

"Need to."

"You've inexplicably lost your ability to use pronouns."

"Blood left brain and settled in dick."

"Do you have the balls to back up that statement with hard evidence?" I reached down to cup his junk as he set me down on my feet.

"Have you been watching porn or something?"

"Yeah." I shrugged. I wasn't going to lie about it. "Don't pretend you haven't."

"I haven't." His eyebrow twitched.

"You're lying."

"Yes."

"Open the door already, but don't judge me, okay?"

He frowned at that. "Why would I judge you? For what?"

"My room. Yours is sociopathically neat and organized. Mine is so messy."

"I don't care," he insisted, reaching behind me to the door. I stared at my broken nails and heard him take a sharp breath. "Um, were you robbed and vandalized?"

"Nope. I'm a pig. I'm messy and highly disorganized. Are you sure you want to do this? We can leave if you wan-"

"Shut the fuck up and get naked." He smiled warmly as he said this; otherwise, it could have been construed as pushy. Not that I would have minded. It was hot when he went all "caveman" on me. "Do you honestly think the mess bothers me, considering what we're about to do?"

"Doesn't it?"

"Well, a little bit." His mouth twitched, and I couldn't tell if he was messing with me or not.

"Shut up-" I was going to respond with something scathing and witty, but I suddenly found my mouth occupied. His hands settled at the small of my back while we kissed with abandon. Lust fluttered deep in my abdomen like butterflies, and I moaned at the sensation, wrapping my arms around his neck. He tasted fresh and spicy like peppermint and cinnamon. I laved my tongue against his over and over again, losing myself in the sheer bliss of the action and mewling like a kitten, my knees buckling at his answering groan.

"Please," I managed to say between kisses.

He slipped his hands under my shirt and traced over my stomach, his lips nibbling and biting at my ear while I squirmed. His fingers felt warm and rough, and I wanted to feel more of him on me.

"Can I take your shirt off?" he asked against my cheek.

_I don't know, can you?_ Rather than being a smart ass, I found myself nodding and begging. Fuck, I had absolutely no dignity whatsoever, I realized as I writhed under his touch.

"What do you want?"

"I want to suck your cock," I said automatically. "Give it to me."

He shook his head. "This is all about you. My cock is staying in my pants."

"But I want it!" I protested, struggling to grab his dick. He grabbed both my wrists in one of his hands, ignoring my pleas and biting one of the buttons off my shirt. _Holy fuck!_ He was an animal! He spit the button out, and we both watched it fall to the floor.

"You want to pick that up, don't you?" I asked breathlessly, still struggling to free my hands. "It's okay. Sex is supposed to be messy."

"Fuck." He lowered his head to my breastbone and muttered out a string of curses.

"What's wrong?"

"I need to calm down." His eyes were all pupil, the green of his irises completely eclipsed by black. He bucked against my hip. It was glorious. I loved the feeling of him all hot and hard and excited for me. My hand escaped his grasp and flew to his crotch to rub him. "No," he pleaded. "I need for this to be about you. Please?"

"But I want to."

He pushed me down on my bed so I landed flat on my back and he continued to fiddle with my buttons, kneeling over me. I could see his erection straining, just beyond my reach.

"Will you take your clothes off?" I asked timidly as he stared at my exposed chest. I could feel my nipples tighten and poke against the lace of my bra. His fingers explored my skin, rubbing circles up my stomach, around my ribs, and finally settling on the undersides of my breasts.

I felt far too vulnerable under his gaze.

"What're you thinking?" I mumbled.

"There are no words."

He fiddled with the clasp in the front, between the cups of my bra, until it unfastened and then gently peeled away the lace from my skin. I shivered with lust and from the cool air that caressed me, goosebumps erupting all over. Edward's lips parted, his eyes seemingly riveted by my nipples.

The look in his eyes, the lust and raw adoration reflected in his gaze, was almost enough to make me come. He had such power over my emotions it was insane.

"Is it . . . okay?" I wasn't sure what I was asking. He clearly liked what he saw, but I needed some sort of affirmation.

"More than okay." He smiled. "Are _you _okay?"

I nodded my head automatically. "I'm just nervous. I- I'm not used to this . . . the not touching back thing. It makes me feel strange."

"Bella, please? I won't make you do anything you don't want to, but please let me make you feel good? Please don't feel like you have to offer something in return."

"Why do you want to do this so badly? I mean, I know I asked for it, but why are you so happy to give and get nothing back?"

"Isn't it obvious?" His fingers settled just under my breasts, and my body screamed; I arched towards him. I wanted more.

"Why?" I gasped, grabbing his hands and placing them over my nipples.

"I adore you."

_He adores me. _Why the fuck did he adore me? You know what? It didn't matter.

"Okay," I agreed.

Warm fingers trailed down my stomach, down past my navel, softly caressing the flesh just under the waist of my jeans. My hips danced off the bed, my body seeking more of his touch, more butterflies. Squirming, I writhed and twisted, feeling a wave of strange euphoria sweep me up as he undid the button of my jeans. Again, I arched off the bed, this time to help him shimmy my jeans down over my hips, down past my knees. He pulled back and stood, yanking my pants with him.

"Panties?"

"They're yours."

"Thanks. I mean, can I take them off?" His eyebrows were raised in a question.

_Please. _"I don't see any way around it."

Torture. Slow, sweet, and hot. His hands on my body were sadistic, touching every inch of me, contrasting between light and heavy caresses. I wanted to feel his weight all over me. I wanted to writhe underneath him.

I had trouble containing a surprised squeal of delight as he kissed my body: the curve of my hip, just below my navel, the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. While he kissed me, he removed the final piece of clothing - le panties de résistance.

He moved too slowly, pulling my underwear gradually down my body and dragging my sanity away with them. He settled himself between my thighs and breathed me in, his eyes fixed on my bare pussy for moment, just looking.

"Is it okay?" I couldn't help asking. No one had ever stared at it the way he was doing before.

"It's so pretty," he said, and I snorted in reply. "No, really! So pink and small. Your pussy is a seashell." He placed a soft kiss on my clit and whispered against it, "A motherfucking seashell."

Hot mouth, tongue, gentle pressure - I wanted to laugh but moaned instead.

I felt open and powerful and vulnerable. I felt _beautiful_.

_Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, oh Christ, fuck me._ I breathed and gasped, crying out. Actually, I was speaking words. The mantra in my head had trespassed through my lips. "Fuck me, Edward, fuck me."

His tongue was a flurry of motion between my thighs, his fingers moving in tandem.

"Oh, my, fuck! It's the piano!"

He didn't reply. His mouth was busy.

_Fucking piano._

My hands twisted in his hair, pushing his face tighter against my cunt. I felt a pressure build in my stomach as the throb between my legs increased to a crescendo.

"Shit. Oh, fuck," I swore. I think I also told him again how much I'd like to spend time with his cock, but I couldn't be certain.

Every muscle in my body seemed to tense suddenly while my pussy attempted to milk Edward's fingers.

He lifted his head from my clit and looked at me. "Is that good, baby?"

I didn't even care that he sounded like a cliché.

Tremors wracked my body, and I cried out as the first wave of the nirvana I sought finally hit me. The walls of my pussy contracted again around Edward's fingers, and he knew at once what was taking place inside of me. He groaned and thrust his hips into my knee, in rhythm with every peak and valley of my climax.

It was _so_ fucking good.

_He_ was so fucking good.

"I'm coming," I told him, rocking my hips on his hand. "Oh, god, Edward."

"You're so fucking beautiful, Bella. Just feel it." He continued to coax the orgasm out of me while I let out a loud moan that would have embarrassed the shit out of me if I wasn't punch-drunk on sex hormones.

He didn't let up on the magical momentum of his fingers until he was certain I'd ridden the final wave home.

I came apart completely, tears of relief coursing down my face.

"Are you crying, baby?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "You're that good, asshole. Don't get a big head about it or anything."

"Of course not, pretty girl."

-({})-

"Why me?" I asked after several minutes of post-orgasmic bliss.

"Huh? What do you mean? Wasn't it good?"

I threw a pillow at him. "Don't be a 'tard. I mean, out of everyone, why do you like me . . . honestly, I'm completely baffled by this. It seems like a random fixation."

"Well, I guess I could understand why you feel that way, seeing as I showed you my therapy journal. I mean, you've seen how deep my obsessive compulsive tendencies run." He stopped speaking and spooned me tenderly, enveloping my entire back with his front. It had been so long since I'd been properly cuddled. I closed my eyes and sighed, melting. "You're different - smart, creative, funny, ridiculously adorable in your own unique, crass way. Ever since you bled all over my shirt in front of Newton's Sporting Goods, I just can't shake this feeling that you're the girl for me." He placed an open-mouthed kiss on my shoulder, and I shivered.

"You're a silver-tongued asshole."

"You did not just insult my tongue!"

My face grew hot. "You're right . . . it's currently my favourite appendage of yours."

"Your favourite? Well, that's a little disappointing . . ."

"Hey! Little Sex-hair is off limits for the time being."

"Yeah, I guess that's fair. Bella?"

"Yes?" I looked back at him.

"What do you see in me exactly?" His face was so serious. I scowled at him, so he clarified by throwing my words back at me. "I'm completely baffled by this. It seems like a random fixation."

"I don't actually have a really good answer. I mean, you're beautiful, self-confident, charming . . . you always say the perfect thing in almost any situation. I think- I guess maybe you're the person I wish I could be."

"You're utterly ridiculous." He snorted. "I'm annoyingly anal and set in my ways. I'm also pushy."

"You can push me; I wouldn't mind," I promised, rolling onto my back so I could look at him. How the fuck did I get this lucky? I ran my fingers over the line of his jaw in pure fascination.

"Hah! You're too strong-willed . . . like, um, a wild, unbroken horse."

"So break me, Sex-hair. And also? Leave the similes to me, okay? No girl wants to be compared to a horse. Although, you can totally ride me if you want."

"Temptress."

"Yeah."

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Do you regret it . . . what we just did?"

"Nope. Best birthday present ever! There is something I still want though."

"What's that?"

"Your underwear."

He laughed. "Go ahead and update your Facebook status."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. I'm yours . . . I want everyone to know. In fact, I'll update mine too."

**A/N - NEWS! I posted a new story called "In the Shadow of Your Heart," and it's a horror/romance. Let's see if I can write a non-comedic fic. Oy. Also, DoUTrustme and I will be posting the final chapter of Don't Fear the Reaper on our joint profile shortly. This is PURE crack fic. **

**Finally, if you were reading mac's fic The Stiletto Talisman, please note that I've agreed to finish it for her. I'll be posting to our joint macflan profile. Again, this is crack fic, and I'll do my best to finish the fic in the spirit mac intended using her outline.**

**I love you for reading Tomato. I'd love you more if you made my phone buzz. Just sayin' :P**


	21. She Swallows and Chokes on her Words

Author's Note: chocolate Twizzlers for mac214 (thanx4fish) and DoUtrustMe for all of their beta and pre-reading help. Also, I updated BBS this week with a special birthday gift for my beta and friend Jess (jkane180). It's an Emmett POV – pure silliness.

Facebook Status: To quote Homer - D'oh!

Edward's arm draped over my shoulders in a casual way that I didn't understand. How was he so fucking calm? Everything had changed - like, monumentally and irrevocably altered. My nerves felt strung so tight they could be strummed with a guitar pick.

I started to hum "While my Guitar Gently Weeps," glaring at the Hale twins' identically curious expressions.

My leg shook spastically, setting off a wave of tremors from beneath the table, effectively vibrating everyone's lunches. Rosalie contemplated her wiggling Jello with suspicious raccoon eyes while she gnawed at her purple lip.

"My kingdom for a Valium," I pleaded to no one in particular.

"Calm the fuck down," she hissed, bowing her head and cradling it in her arms. In my periphery, Lauren glared at us, and I kicked reflexively at the underside of the bench envisioning her face. The table buckled up slightly at the seam where it connected to the adjacent one; Rose's head was rather unfortunately situated on this fault line and she was jostled. "Fucking ow!"

"Sorry," I muttered, trying to meld myself to Edward's side. He nuzzled my temple with the crown of his head, and I wound my fingers into his messy hair, making it messier still with my attentions.

"What's wrong, pretty girl? You're shaking like a leaf."

"I dunno . . . nothing, I guess. People are staring or whatever."

"Let them," he said proudly and pulled me onto his lap, proceeding to rub my hip in a discreet but maddeningly erotic manner. "Who cares what they think?" His lips vibrated against my ear, and I nearly messed my panties from the sensation of his breath, hot and humid on my skin.

"Right," I agreed, tilting my head. "We're alone in the cafeteria for all I fucking care." I inched my mouth to his, watching his eyelids close reflexively upon my approach.

"Malice Cullen, three o'clock," Rosalie announced venomously.

"Shit," I muttered, pulling away from Edward's kiss. His head landed against my shoulder.

"Where?" Jasper asked, and Rosalie pointed to the tiny girl before punching her brother in the gut.

"Don't be so fucking pathetic."

"But . . . she's wearing pink," he lamented.

"Plant your seed elsewhere, dumbass. She's an evil troll."

"Um," Edward interjected. "She's sorta my sister. Please don't call her a troll."

"Fuck you, Cullen. Yeah, I know she's your sister. Don't you think I remember the way she treated me? If it wasn't for her, maybe Emmett wouldn't have-"

"Rose, stop it," Jasper said with more authority than I'd ever heard him use before. "Let this shit go, already."

"Cunt," she hissed, tossing a bag of Twizzlers in Alice's direction. She missed her by about twenty feet, though, because she threw like an emo douchebag.

"Yeah, she really can be a cunt, can't she." Jasper's voice was strangely wistful.

"Fuck, guys. Stop calling Edward's sister a cunt." _Because she's actually an evil fucking puss wound on a cunt._

"Just 'cause you're in love with her brother's dick doesn't mean you don't hate her too," Rosalie reminded me acridly, and I used my non-shaking leg to kick her under the table.

"You hate her?" Edward asked carefully.

"Well . . . not hate, per se." Loathe. Despise. Want to kill her . . . "I mean, I suppose it's a question of semantics, really. She hasn't exactly been very nice to me." _Please don't leave me, please don't leave me. Your sister really is a scunt, but please don't leave me for thinking so. _

"You're so cock-whipped it's not even funny. Tell him the truth." _Dude! _Rosalie seriously needed to shut the fuck up. I mean, what was her fucking deal today? And why was she trying to stir my shit up? I'd only ever been nice to her . . . mostly.

"It's alright, Bella," Edward said, sounding like he thought my opinion of his sister was anything other than alright.

He deserved to know how I felt. I was already keeping enough secrets from him.

"I don't like her very much, if I'm being honest," I told him in a small voice, and I felt the hand he'd rested fondly on my hip drop to his side.

I wanted the ground to split open and swallow me. I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for Edward to defend his sister's honour.

"What did she do to you?" he asked softly, and I opened my eyes.

"Nothing really . . . she doesn't approve of the way I dress."

Jasper shot me a sympathetic look while his sister's eyes betrayed only frustration.

"I'm done eating, I think." Edward said, giving me a look that was probably supposed to impart some sort of private message, but I couldn't get a proper read on him. He patted my leg and I crawled out of his lap, turning into a statue on the edge of the bench. He stood, taking his backpack with him, and I felt hot tears well up in my eyes.

I'd fucked things up. It was over before it began. He was cutting all ties; he didn't want me.

Oh god, this shit was inevitable, but I thought I would have had more time with him. It was over so fast, and it wasn't fucking fair!

It wasn't fair that I wasn't good enough for him.

I wore the wrong kind of jeans.

No. I _had _the wrong kind of genes.

"Bye," I whispered, swallowing a sob. I could've loved you. I wanted you to be mine. Why won't you be mine?

"Bella?" He was still looking at me.

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming?"

I stared at him, mouth agape like an asshole, trying to process his words in context with my nervous breakdown. "You . . . want me?"

Edward grinned, his eyes crunching up in the corners mirthfully. "Yeah, Bella. I want you . . . but not here, okay?"

I swung my legs over the bench and took the hand he offered, watching with quiet fascination as he knelt to grab my bag for me. He slung both bags over his shoulder and smoothed his charcoal-coloured sweater down over his abs.

"C'mon, pretty girl. I want you all to myself before class."

"Why?" His sweater was so soft, so warm against my arm as I clung to him.

"I need some kisses from that beautiful mouth of yours."

Everyone was looking at us, and I didn't care.

It was heaven, right here in the middle of hell.

-({})-

"I think physical quantities are totally inappropriate units of measurement for things." Fuck, Edward was good with his tongue. Whatever he was doing to my neck was making me crazy. "Temporal quantities, man, that's where it's at."

"Yeah," he said breathlessly, pulling my breast out of my bra. Thank fuck the windows were fogged up from the humidity and lust thickening the air inside the Volvo. It was sultry - sultry like a Tennessee Williams play in the backseat of his car. My pussy mewled languidly in a southern accent, begging me to let it out of my pants to play in the Elysian Fields of Edward's mouth.

"Yeah," I panted. "Like, for example, I estimate we have about ten minutes of make-out time before the bell rings."

"Twelve, but who's counting?"

"Twelve," I agreed, reaching behind my back to unhook my bra. "Food should be measured in time too."

"That's fucking brilliant. Makes perfect sense." Edward swirled his tongue around my nipple before pulling it between his lips in a gentle suck.

"If I know I have fifteen minutes of eating time, I'd like to be able to order fifteen minutes worth of food."

"Perfectly logical."

"You're not really listening to my nonsensical ramblings are you?"

"Food measured in time . . . sex measured in food."

I patted the top of his head, "It's a good thing you're so pretty, Sex-hair. You may have two more minutes of titty sucking before I demand to see some of your skin."

"Bella," he pleaded. "It's not a good idea."

"Titty sucking?"

"No. Me taking my clothes off."

"But it's not fair that you get to do what you want with me, but I can't touch you."

"Most girls would consider it a blessing," he teased.

"I guess I'm not most girls." I pushed him off of me, and he groaned with disappointment.

"Why are you insisting on this shit? I'm crazy about you, baby. Let me make you feel good."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because this feels like sexual penance or something . . . like you're denying yourself to prove something." I placed my hand on his stomach. "You make me feel good, Edward. Just that you want me is enough." I leaned forward and kissed the hollow of his neck, flicking my tongue out to taste the sweet and salty skin there. "Can you understand that I want to-no, I _need_ to make you feel good too? Can you trust me enough with your body the way I've trusted you with mine?"

"Baby," he whispered. "I trust you . . . I don't trust myself. I'm a horny, insensitive asshole."

"Shut the fuck up. That's not you at all."

"I use women."

"Are you using me?"

He was quiet for a moment. "I really hope not. I've never felt this way before . . . I've never wanted to just, I don't know, fucking worship someone without getting anything in return."

"But you're not sure . . . that you're not using me." I lowered my head, trying not to panic.

"I don't trust myself. That's why I don't want you to touch me. I don't want to ever be in a position to take from you again."

"That's ridiculous! How are we supposed to have a relationship if my hands need to be tied behind my back every time we're making out."

His eyes widened. "You want me to tie you up? Fuck, I mean, what?"

I laughed. "Take your cock out, pretty boy. I'm giving you head."

"Just like that, huh."

"Yep. Just like that. Let your trouser snake out of its denim prison."

"Um . . . what?" He laughed.

"Sorry! I've been reading a lot of bad porn. Just give me your dick, okay? There really isn't an eloquent way to ask for it, and by my calculation, we only have six minutes of cock-sucking time, so I really don't have time to be pretty with my words."

To my surprise, he didn't argue any further. I watched, completely mesmerized as he raised his hips off the seat, unbuckling his dark, leather belt with swift fingers. His hands were so gorgeous - I never noticed before. Piano player hands. He had lean, long fingers, and they moved with a grace that was unfathomable to me. I was so taken with the shocking beauty of his hands that I almost - almost - didn't notice his cock bobbing proudly out of his boxers.

It, too, was so fucking pretty. How could a dick be pretty?

"Was this the dick that launched a thousand ships..."

"Um, what?"

"It's Homer."

"Simpson?"

"No," I giggled. "_The Illiad_. Bad reference. Sorry." I bent down and ran my tongue around the swollen head of his cock. "It's just so . . . lovely. I want to write it a poem or something."

"I love you; you're awesome."

What?

_What?_

"What?"

"You're awesome?"

"Thanks."_ I love you too._

"Bella-"

"Shhh. Cock sucking going on here." I stuffed his dick in my mouth quickly before I could say something stupid. I think it surprised him; he gasped and bucked and cursed as I sucked almost his entire length back into my throat, keeping my larynx relaxed so I wouldn't gag.

Slowly, carefully, I raised my head, sucking his shaft the entire way up until only his head remained on my tongue, which I swirled around the underside. A groan rumbled out of his chest, and I felt rather affectionate, strangely. I'd never felt sweet before while giving head, but I wanted to run my fingers all over his body; I wanted to use my hands to tell him how very much I adored him.

Instead of words, I offered him my tongue.

My hand hugged him at the base of his dick, squeezing him in tandem with my mouth. I lost myself in the sounds of his pleasure, the soft moans and gasps that filled the space around us. Listening to him beg and praise me, felt his hands, his beautiful fucking hands, wind their way through my hair, helping me set a rhythm. His breath came in hard and fast gasps, and I sucked his length, keeping time with his respiration, imagining how the ebb and flow of motion along his shaft felt, and trying to anticipate what would offer him the most pleasure.

"Baby," he groaned, tugging at my hair as his cock pulsed in my mouth. "I'm gonna come."

I hummed my approval at this notion, sucking harder and rolling his balls tenderly in my hands.

"Fuck, I can't hold- fuuuuck."

His hands became tight fists at the base of my head, and I sucked harder, urging him with my hand and tongue towards his release. He grunted a string of curses, his cock pulsing hot, salty, bitter bursts into the back of my throat.

I swallowed several times.

"You swallow," he sighed in wonderment.

"It would appear so." Except I never had before.

"You're beautiful."

"I'm in love with you," I gushed before I could stop myself. I crawled into his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Edward, I love you." He wrapped his arms around me, stroking the small of my back tenderly. "Please, please, love me too."

"I'll do my best, Bella. I promise to do my best, okay?"

It was the best I could hope for.

Wasn't it?

"Try," I urged him. "Just . . . try."

"I will," he promised, but his eyes were tight, his lips set in a grim line. "We better get to class, pretty girl."

"Okay," I agreed, shifting off of him.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you . . . for doing that."

I smiled. "It was my pleasure."

"I promise . . . I mean, I really _do_ promise to try." His tone was apologetic and hopeful at once.

"Thanks," I replied.

It was the best I could hope for.

It _was_.

A/N – A preview of the next chapter to anyone who can tell me in their review why I included a reference to Elysian Fields in the Tennessee Williams/backseat of the car description.

Please to check out fanficmyfanfic (.) blogspot (.) com for the contest we're (the Twific Pimps) are running. This is a super-cool opportunity to re-write classic fanfics like Wide Awake. We're also accepting judges currently for each of the fics.

Every time you review me, god saves a kitten. No, not really, but she definitely doesn't kill one. Okay, I'm going to enjoy twenty minutes of chicken wings now. Big buzzy love!


	22. Exit Strategy

**A/N: Elysian Fields was a reference to the Tennessee Williams play "A Streetcar Named Desire" - it's the street Stanley and Stella live on. It's also a heaven of sorts in Greek mythology. I used it in the paragraph about the back seat of the car being as sultry as a Tennessee Williams play. Big Love to betas mac214 and jkane180 and DoUTrustMe for prereading. DoMe and I just completed our collab "Don't Fear the Reaper" and there's a link on my profile.**

Facebook Status: Going to La Push. Wish me luck!

Edward Cullen's Walll - Bella Swan: Check your texts. I'm in La Push. Come get me, please!

Bella Swan's Wall - Edward Cullen: On my way. Sorry, I was out and just got your texts.

Bella Swan's Wall - Edward Cullen: I'm almost there. You didn't answer my text.

Bella Swan's Wall - Edward Cullen: I'm here. Where are you? Answer my text.

New text message from E.A. Cullen: Bella? Answer your phone.

({})

"What's the verdict, Bells?" Charlie asked, piling his fishing gear onto the porch. I fidgeted in the doorway with my iPhone, glaring at my empty notification box. Fuck, I couldn't stay home all day waiting for _him_ to call. But then again, what if he did call? I'd be stuck at Billy's with my dad.

"Staying home," I mumbled.

"You're acting strange," he mused, picking up the extra fishing pole even though I clearly muttered under my breath that I wouldn't be joining him.

"Leave it, Dad. I'm not coming!" I pulled up my Facebook to see if Edward had updated his status recently. He hadn't commented on mine; I would've gotten an email notification if he did. Of course, I hadn't changed it since yesterday. Fuck if I wasn't becoming complacent!

His status read: Missing my pretty girl.

Holy fuck! That was me, right? He called me "pretty girl" all the time! Wait, hold on a sec - it was a generic sort of pet name. Maybe he called all his fuck-buddies by the same name so as not to confuse us. Shit - Charlie was staring at me while I wrestled with paranoia and a billion stupid insecurities.

"Bella? Is this about," he paused, shifting uncomfortably, "a boy?"

"Um. No?" _It's about a sex god, thank you very much! _

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Edward's cock. Fuck, I was desperate to get my hands, my mouth, my cunt on it again. I was fixated in a way that was clearly obsessive: all my thoughts were polarized on Edward's, well, pole. But I couldn't very well tell this to my dad. "I'm feeling icky." _Gah. Did I just say 'icky'?_

"Did you just say 'icky'?" he asked incredulously.

"I think I'm having my period," I said loudly, but he didn't even flinch.

"You _think_ you're having your period? Jeez, Bells, isn't that something a woman should know?"

"I'm bleeding a bit. Maybe." I was totally lying, of course.

"Bleed or bleed not, there is no maybe."

"Holy shit, Dad! Did you just crack a joke? Was that a Yoda impression?"

"I'm in a good mood." He shrugged, whistling what could only be described as a happy tune.

Oh . . . oh god, ew. "Shit, Dad. Did you, um . . . get laid?"

"What?" He dropped his fishing pole, tripping over the tackle box. Colourful lures spilled out, and I knelt beside him to help pick them up, nearly impaling my finger on one of the hooks because I was Bella Swan.

"Sex, Dad. Did you get some?"

"Er . . . well . . . "

"Who did you bait your hook with? And don't be heavy with the details."

"Sue Clearwater." He blushed. He fucking blushed! I wasn't sure what to think, but I felt like I should offer advice or encouragement of some sort.

"You dog," I jeered, awkwardly slapping him on the back. "Way to tap that ass."

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't say shit like that."

"Sorry. Just trying to be that son you never had." I smiled at him in earnest. It was nice to see him happy about something other than fishing or football or ammunition. "I mean, Jake's like your surrogate son or whatever, and I know you have trouble relating to me because of the tits-"

He scowled. "It's not your girl-parts that make you difficult to understand." He set his gear in the flatbed of my truck and turned back toward me. "Bella, you scare the crap outta me most of the time, but you gotta know I love you more than anything in the world."

"Shut the fuck up," I said, feeling my eyes water with stupid tears.

"I'm gonna hug you."

"Don't you dare!" I grabbed a fishing pole and held it up like a sword. A silly grin broke out over Dad's face, and I giggled as he chased me around the car.

"You can run, little girl, but you can't hide. Get ready for that hug."

_You can't shut me out, Isabella. Don't run from me._

He wrapped his arms around me, and I screamed, bringing my knee up to his groin.

-({})-

Sunlight streamed stubbornly through the dense cloud cover. I kept my eyes fixed skyward through the open window as we shot down the highway, faster than Charlie typically liked to drive.

But it wasn't fast enough for me to escape the memories that poured like lava through my mind, burning through my soft tissue. That's what it felt like: not a cleansing fire but an incineration of my sanity.

Sometimes I felt like a pile of ash, a cigar left to burn.

_"Who is he?"_

_"My mother's husband."_

_"Did he hurt you?"_

_"He does… hurt me. Every day. It never stops - this weight on me. I can't breathe. I want to breathe."_

_"Tell me what happened?"_

_"I can't." I shook my head and smiled coolly. "Will you teach me to smoke a cigar?"_

_"I'm sorry, Bella. You can't smoke a metaphor."_

Fuck, I'd been doing so well. I'd thought things were getting better.

"I'm so sorry," I blubbered, still inconsolable as we pulled off the 101 onto the dusty road that led to Jake's.

"I know, Bells. I told you I'm fine."

"You're not fine. I kicked you in the balls."

"Yeah, about that . . . what the fuck?" He was still breathing strangely, like I'd knocked the wind out of him, and he still hadn't pulled a proper breath into his lungs.

"I- I don't like to be touched," I said lamely.

His brow furrowed, as if in thought, as he wrenched the wheel of the truck, turning into the Blacks' driveway. "I think it's time I have a chat with that therapist of yours. Obviously he isn't helping."

"That's not fair! I only started seeing him. Look, if it's about the money, I'll . . ." I'll what? Demand Phil send me more? I couldn't text him. Not anymore. That shit was over. "I'll get a job or something."

"You like therapy?" Charlie's voice was skeptical.

"I don't know. I like Dr. Banner. I think maybe he's helping me." Clearly, kicking my father in the dick was evidence of this.

"Well," he grumbled, "I guess that's something. But, Bells, I really wish you'd talk to me. Ever think maybe I could help?"

"I dunno . . . I talk to Jake and stuff."

"I thought you kids were fighting still." Charlie pushed the car into park and looked at me before cutting the ignition. "He punched the wall."

"He was confused about some stuff I told him."

"He punched the wall because he was confused?"

"Yeah. My poor wall never stood a chance against his hissy fit. Men are very frustrating with their random bursts of testosterone-fuelled violence."

"Men, huh?" He threw me a weary look and jumped out of the car. "What about women and their irrationality? You set his car on fire."

"I think I was having my period that day . . . maybe."

-({})-

Billy eyed me warily when I refused to join them on the fishing boat.

"Jake's not home," he said gruffly.

He was totally lying. I could hear Jake's iPod playing _Rage Against the Machine_ through his closed bedroom door just beyond the entryway.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Bell-"

"Aw, c'mon, Billy. Don't be such a drama queen. Let the kids make up." Charlie grabbed Billy's chair and pushed it back so he was doing wheelies.

"You got laid, didn't you?" Billy laughed as they continued on down the driveway.

"He totally did," I yelled, closing the front door and taking the six measly steps to Jake's room. I knocked, tentatively at first, and then loudly when my efforts elicited no reply.

The music cut suddenly, and I scowled. "Dude! Don't be an asshole."

Maybe _he_ was getting laid? Huh, I certainly didn't want to interrupt that. But there wasn't anyone else's shoes at the front door, and I was pretty sure Billy would've _loved_ to mention if Leah was in his room since he was into that whole "impression" bullshit. Fuck, imprint, I meant.

"C'mon, Jake," I pleaded, banging on his bedroom door for the umpteenth time. My knuckles were turning purple. "Let me the fuck in! We need to talk."

"Go away, Bells," he groaned.

"I need you, Jake. You promised you'd be my friend no matter what." I fake-cried then. I knew, it was a crap move for me to make, but it was for the greater good - to save our friendship. "Please," I sobbed.

"Fuck you!" he cursed. "You're the worst fake-crier in the world."

Excellent! His resolve was wavering. No, not really. This wasn't going to go well, I could tell. I sent a quick text to Edward, imploring him to come pick me up so I wouldn't have to wait all day for Charlie to return. But first, one last shot . . .

"Little pig, little pig, let me in! Or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow you."

The door swung open, and Jake glared at me with wild, dark eyes. "You're a fucking liar."

"What the fuck? I didn't lie; well, except about blowing you. I won't do that." I smiled timidly, admittedly taken aback by the hate he conveyed. Shit, even when I destroyed his car, he never acted like such a mean asshole. "Let me in," I repeated in a gentler tone, attempting to soothe the savage beast.

"You're a disgusting, sick person." He grabbed my arm roughly and pulled, nearly dislocating my shoulder with the sudden jolt. "Do you have any fucking clue what I gave up for you?"

"I didn't ask you-"

"No. You didn't. You made up some bullshit story about fucking your stepdad to gain my sympathy. Do you have any idea how devastated I've been thinking that he- that you-"

"Jake, stop." My throat tightened with panic. I wanted to scream, to fight, to explain myself, but too many emotions and terrible memories were rushing to the surface. I'd carefully repressed so much, seeking solace in Jake's seemingly boundless friendship, but I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand seeing him look at me like I was dirt. Shit, I'd have rather faced Phil than the naked loathing in Jake's eyes.

Like a river undammed, my shame flooded over me in a tidal wave. Had I misled him?

"I fucking hate you," he spat venomously, and I crumpled to the ground as if I'd been kicked in the gut.

"You . . . don't . . . you . . . don't." I tried to find the words, to breath, to explain myself, but the darkness came so quickly. I closed my eyes but couldn't chase away the well of hatred in Jake's eyes. It was an agony I didn't understand; my mind literally tried to reject it. This wasn't just darkness or fear or the oppressive weight on my chest that I'd grown accustomed to. This was the same anguish that made me want to die.

"Stand up. Get the fuck out of my house." He pulled me to my feet, but I fell forward, smacking my head against his chest. For an instant, his arms shot out to steady me. I tried to wrap my arms around him, but he shoved me away. I felt my feet slip beneath me, and I teetered sideways, clipping the side of my cheek off his bedroom door,.

Pain shot through my jaw, but it was nothing compared to the stake through the heart that was Jake's loathing.

I knew a thing or two about pain - sometimes pain merely cast a dim shadow, but this . . . this was true hell.

"I didn't lie."

"Bullshit. Rape victims aren't virgins."

"What? What?" I repeated the word like an idiot. I knew I'd have to explain myself, but I never for a nanosecond thought Jake would believe I'd made this shit up about Phil.

"Fuck you!" I howled, cradling my head with my left hand and forming a fist with my right. I snapped my arm forward and connected with Jake's jaw. He looked at me in shock, rubbing his face. "No intercourse."

"What?" His bottom lip hung down in an obscene pout, his eyes flashing wildly, madly searching my face for something. "What?" he repeated dumbly.

I spoke quickly before I lost my nerve or he tried to stop me. "He'd come into my room and touch me, just touch me, at first, but a little wasn't enough for long. And when Renee wasn't home, he'd get bolder, taking more clothes off, taking more liberties, taking pieces until I was nothing but a void; I was a void he filled with his cock. But no intercourse. He put it in my mouth, so I couldn't scream." I gasped for air. "He said- he said it wasn't really bad if he didn't put it in me. He said what we did was fine. He said-"

"Stop... stop... I can't." Fat tears rolled down Jake's face.

"I'm not lying. I didn't lie!"

"I wish you did. Fuck!" he yelled, ramming his fist into the wall. Maybe he wanted to hurt too. Maybe it was easier to deal with a sore head than an aching psyche.

"You believe me? Please, Jake, please don't hate me. I swear to fucking god I'm telling you the truth."

He keened into his hands, violent sobs wracking his chest before he could calm himself and draw enough breath into his lungs to speak.

"Bella, I'm just a . . . I mean, I don't know what to do. Tell me what do do?"

"It's okay, Jake," I whispered gratefully. He needed to be comforted; I couldn't fall apart. He needed me.

He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. "Why- why didn't you tell me what he did?"

I knelt down and crawled into his lap, sighing in relief when his arms tightened around me. "I don't like thinking about it, Jake. I didn't think you wanted details. He fucked me. He fucked me up and fucked me over. Fuck is fuck is fuck. Does it matter where he put his-"

"Stop," he sobbed into my hair. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" I nuzzled my head against his, trying to calm him.

"I can't keep this secret, Bells. Please don't make me keep this."

"What are you saying?" I yelled, jumping to my feet. "No, this is my secret-"

"Fuck, Bells. No, it's not." He stood up too, stomping past me and grabbing his coat from the hook by the door.

"Where the fuck are you going?" I asked frantically.

He didn't reply, and I was unable to move, paralyzed with dread. I watched him throw open the door so hard the screen shuddered and separated from the frame.

_No. He couldn't! _

"You can't tell Charlie," I tried to scream, but my voice didn't carry far enough.

My life would be over if Charlie knew. I couldn't live with him knowing . . . all the terrible, disgusting, loathsome things I let happen.

With shaking fingers, I sent a series of frantic texts to Edward. By the time I was done, Jake was probably already at the beach.

The last time I was at First Beach I'd thought I was drowning.

Now it felt like a fantasy - a far off memory.

Like a flash freeze, a cold realization settled deep inside me. Before I'd passed out from a fever that day, I'd watched Jake's friends cliff dive into the ocean.

It seemed like as good an exit strategy as any; I couldn't swim.

I could drown.

I could totally die.

At least I wouldn't bleed this time.

**A/N – Previews will be sent to all reviewers of this chapter because I lubs you!**

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	23. Running from Ghosts

**A/N - Beer makes this story good. Mac214 and DoUTrustMe make it better.**

Facebook status: NOT killing myself.

Foaming crests of water crashed into mist a good fifty feet beneath me. I raised my hands into a dramatic V and prepared to launch myself forward. Of course, I'd have to actually step up to the edge to accomplish this.

Huh.

One foot in front of the other. _You can do this, slut! It's as easy as falling off a cliff._

Holy fuck! Staring down the barrel of the gun - the sheer rock disappearing into a tempest of water - the enormity of the situation hit me like a tidal wave. Apt fucking image, right? A strange vertigo came over me as I contemplated what it would be like to fall, and I stumbled, gasping in wretched fear momentarily before righting my footing. I kicked up rubble and stone in my struggles, and watched it fall gracelessly down the rock wall with morbid curiosity.

Fuck that.

There was no fucking way I was jumping. Instead, I finally checked my phone which had been buzzing insistently during my walk of insanity.

With cold, clumsy fingers, I synced up my GPS to Edward's phone so he could find me. It was a cool feature - it reminded me of shooting out the Bat Signal or some shit.

Stepping away from the edge, I opened my Tweetdeck and tried to send a DM to Jake. _Tried. _Apparently the bitch had stopped following me.

Actually, that wasn't true. The cocksucker had deleted his account in an emo fit of stupidity! I guess tweeting had been our thing; he really _had_ washed his hands of me the night I shed my hymen.

I collapsed into a heap on the ground, staring like an asshole at the gaping wound where Jake's profile used to be. There was nothing quite as devastating as tweeting an account that no longer existed - especially when said account belonged to one's so-called best friend. Idly, I wondered if he had a new car yet because there was totally a lighter in my pocket.

Kidding . . . sort of.

Edward's fuck-me, shiny car pulled up along the soft shoulder at the end of the road that led to the cliffs. Even under the ridiculously thick clouds, it sparkled like a beacon in the fog. I watched him kick the door open and jog down the dusty path toward where I languished against a fallen tree.

"Bella?"

"I'm being melodramatic," I explained by way of apology, stretching my arms over my head so my titties looked pert through my unsexy flannel shirt. "I'm sorry if I interrupted your day."

His eyes settled on my chest, seeming to appreciate my efforts. Kneeling by my side, he captured my hand in his and contemplated it, which was all kinds of weird. He flipped it palm-side-up and ran his finger softly over the curve of my lifeline.

"You didn't. I was hoping you'd call. Um, why are you hanging out on the edge of a cliff?"

"Because I was going to heave myself off," I explained, running my free hand through his crazy hair. He closed his eyes and made a little hum of contentment.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Totally," I said flippantly. "I got in a fight with Jake and went for a walk." I pulled my hand away from him and balled it into a fist in my lap. "Could we get out of here?"

"Where is he?" Edward growled in an adorable, territorial fashion. "I'll kill him if he hurt you."

"Let it go. Don't try to be a hero here."

"Did he touch you?"

I snorted. "Jake? Of course not!" I squeezed my fist tighter, digging my nails into the soft flesh of my palm, and jumped to my feet. "Can I stay at your house tonight? I don't want to go home."

Edward's eyes widened. "Your dad would freak!"

"Boy Scout," I scoffed.

"He has a gun, Bella. He'll shoot my dick off or something."

_Fucking coward! _

"I'm not going home," I insisted petulantly. "Could you drop me off at a motel or something?" My stomach fell with heavy disappointment as tears welled in my eyes, seeming to mingle with the salty air. I blinked several times and coughed to disguise a sob.

Edward grabbed my arm, but I shrugged him off. He was a disappointing shit like Jake. All boys were assholes.

"What the fuck? Why are you having a random breakdown today?"

Yep, that comment served to kick my girlish tantrum up a notch. "Not as random as you'd think." I dropped to my ass again, leaning against a moss-covered boulder. My arms felt like lead, but I cradled my face into them, sobbing messily into my sleeves.

"Talk to me," he pleaded wearily, sitting on the broken ground beside me. "Why are you freaking out? Did I say something to upset you? Shit, Bella, I feel like . . ."

"What?"

"Shit, I don't know. I feel like I have to tread so carefully around you sometimes. Like you'll scream or cry if I say the wrong thing. I don't know what's going to set you off at any given time."

_Yeah, that's because you _don't_ know me at all._

"Look," he said carefully, wrapping his arm around me and drawing me against his chest. "I'm trying here, pretty girl - I'm really trying to be what you need, but you've got to start telling me what the fuck is going on."

"Please, Edward? I swear I'll tell you everything . . . just please take me out of Forks for a while . . . just a night." My fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, my body arching against him, moving seemingly of its own volition. There really seemed to be a magnetic polarity between our bodies: hand to hand, chest to chest, tongue to tongue. I found myself in his lap straddling his hips, kissing him, feeling him, seeking out a solace I'd only ever known in his embrace. "Please," I panted between kisses. He groaned, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth, his fingers pressing desperately into my lower back. I bucked against the bulge under the buckle of his belt, nearly coming undone at his answering moan. "Just a motel . . . just for tonight. I just want to lay with you all night. It'll make everything okay."

"What about after tonight, pretty girl?" he asked hoarsely, still kissing my mouth and neck between words.

"You won't want to be with me after tonight-"

"Cut that shit out!" He pulled back sharply, tilting my chin up so I was forced to look in his eyes. "I adore you. What do I have to do to prove it?"

I bit my lip nervously. "I'm going to tell you my secret. If you still want to be with me after learning it, then I'll know we're for real." Um, what the fuck did I just say? "Actually, no. I can't. Never mind."

"Bella," Edward groaned, this time with frustration not lust. "Whatever it is, you can trust me."

_You're a fucktard!_ my inner critic screeched at me; she sounded disconcertingly like a female Bobcat Goldthwait. _Shut your mouth hole, or I'll sing Britney Spears._

"Please?" he begged, licking his pouty lower lip. I wanted to lick it too.

"I totally will," I conceded, cringing as Bobcat caterwauled "Hit me Baby One More Time" in my head. "I'll tell you everything. But first, Calgone, take me away!"

"Aw, shit." He stood, offering me his hand to pull me off the ground. "My balls will be on your head if your dad catches us."

"Thanks for the tea-bagging visual, Sex-hair."

Edward laughed and spun me around so my back lined-up with his front. He bent over to kiss my ear, darting his tongue over the lobe. The heat of his mouth on my skin in contrast with the cold air made me shiver, eliciting a small, astonished groan from my lips.

"I want you," he said softly, unexpectedly.

"Okay."

"Port Angeles?"

"Guh?" I couldn't think or speak. I was too lost in the feeling of his dick poking into my back. Shit, he was hard. I made him hard. I strained on my toes to try to line up our genitals.

"Is that far enough?" he asked.

"No, it's not in the right place!"

"Port Angeles?"

"What now?

"Uh, is that far enough away to spend the night?"

"Oh. Yeah, that's great." I turned around and placed my hand on his crotch, but he caught my wrist before I could get a proper grip.

"Care to explain to me why you were thinking about jumping off that cliff?"

-({})-

Tawdry was a pretty word, a pretty word meaning cheap and common. I felt decidedly tawdry, fidgeting awkwardly as Edward fiddled with the front lock of our motel room. The key finally caught in the cylinder, releasing the deadbolt. He held the door open, always the gentleman, and I shuffled into the room, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor.

What the fuck was that smell? _Failure?_ It smelled like cigarettes, bleach, and stale sex. Huh. I bet that's what Lauren would smell like in another ten years.

"It's not what I was expecting." I wrinkled my nose.

"Well, every other place in town requires a major credit card." He dropped a plastic Wal-Mart bag filled with some hastily acquired toiletries and clothes on the bed and smiled apologetically. "I didn't want to be traced here."

"Dude, you're acting like we're on the run or something." I wondered how long I needed to wait before I threw myself at him and begged him to fuck me. His cock-hugging pants mocked me, as I gawked like a pervert, soaking my underwear. Jeez, just looking at his manly bulge turned my nether regions into liquid.

Or maybe my cunt was just a melodramatic bitch, crying her clit out, throwing a pussy fit.

"Aren't we? It kind of feels that way." His jaw reddened, his eyes flashing darkly as he scowled.

"You don't have to stay," I said in a small voice. "I didn't mean to fuck up your day."

"Of course I _have_ to stay. What kind of asshole would I be if I left you here by yourself? Clearly you're hell bent on doing something stupid today."

"I wasn't- I mean, I wouldn't have really jumped. I'm an attention whore."

"Stop!" He grabbed me by the sleeve and tugged, ripping my shirt open at the seam. "Stop calling yourself a whore. I'm fucking sick of it. You're not . . . how could you be?"

"Edward, I-"

"Stop fucking calling yourself that." He pulled again, his hand still a fist on the fabric of my shirt, shaking me so I lost balance and fell backwards onto the bed. "You were a virgin up until a few days ago." He hovered over me, his shoulders rising and falling heavily as he seemed to almost pant for air.

"But I-"

"You're not," he growled. "No one's had you but me."

The buttons strained over my breasts, and his eyes fixated on the skin poking through the gaps. With my free hand, I unbuttoned my stupid, flannel shirt. He released my hand and climbed over me, keeping his weight balanced on his arms.

"I want you," he said darkly.

"Okay."

"Shit. Fuck, I need to get inside you."

"Do it." I wrapped my legs around him, moaning as he bucked his hips into mine. "I'm yours." Something about the way he seemed possessive of my pussy made me hot as hell. Also, it was kind of sweet. I was his. I liked that I'd given such an intimate part of myself to him.

"Bella . . . you don't have to." His words were at odds with the voracious expression on his face - his lips slightly parted and his eyes all pupil.

"I know. I want to. I love you, Edward."

"Shit. Bella . . . I care for you."

"That's good enough." I fumbled with the button of my jeans.

"No, baby, it's not." He rolled off me, sighing heavily.

"Please."

"Bella-"

"Please? I want you."

"I want you too, baby." He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. I shivered from the caress of his warm breath against my skin, moaning softly as he dragged his fingertips gently over my nipples. "I can't get enough of you."

"Then fuck me."

"Not until I can tell you I love you too."

"You already did," I protested, grabbing his wrist to draw his hand to my crotch. He relented, cupping my pussy over my jeans.

"I know."

"You didn't mean it?"

"Not exactly . . . it kind of slipped out by accident."

"So you . . . why did you say it?"

"I don't know." Somehow he managed to find my clit over the heavy denim, and I wriggled, squeezing his hand between my thighs. "I have trouble thinking straight when I'm near you. Do you have any idea how hard I am? I'm a fucking saint."

"You are," I agreed. "Let me canonize your dick with my mouth."

"Holy fuck."

"Yes, exactly."

I heard the rustling of his pants and looked down to see his dick straining against the front of his boxer briefs. "I can't take it anymore. I need you. I need to be balls deep inside you now."

Dirty boy. That was so fucking hot. "That's so fucking hot."

His fingers dipped below the waistband of my pants and dragged them down over my hips while I kicked and squirmed, doing my damnedest to shed my underwear at the same time. I felt him lift himself up so I could use my feet to push my jeans and panties over my ankles.

"Do you want me?"

"So much, Edward. I've never wanted anything as much as I want you."

"Will you tell me if anything hurts?" he murmured against my mouth, offering me sweet, slow kisses.

"I promise."

He fisted his cock, rubbing the head over my clit with an achingly slow rhythm, spreading moisture from his tip around my pussy lips. As if I wasn't wet enough already . . .

"You'll tell me?"

"I will, Edward. It won't hurt this time, though." At least, I was pretty sure it wouldn't. Did the second time feel better than the first? It had to. Everything was different now.

He pushed forward a little, and I tensed at the strange pressure. It didn't hurt exactly; it just felt foreign. I concentrated on his eyes, at the look of pure ecstasy on his face, and I felt my body open up a little more.

"Yes," I whispered, tilting my hips as he rocked forward.

"Oh, fuck. You feel so fucking good, Bella." He dropped his mouth to my neck and sucked gently, "You're so beautiful. I want to see my cock go inside you."

I wasn't sure what he meant, and I whimpered shamelessly as he pulled out. "More," I pleaded, and he laughed lightly.

"It's okay. I'm just trying a different angle."

"What? Why? What's the difference?"

He knelt so he was sitting on his knees, and he grabbed my thighs, effectively spreading me widely. "Show me that seashell," he urged, smirking, and I scooted down so my ass was on his knees. Before I could reply, he pushed his dick inside me again. This time, he entered me swiftly and deeply; I shuddered, crying out in surprise, and he retracted himself slowly, staring down at where we were connected.

"More," I demanded, eliciting a throaty laugh from him.

"My pretty girl," he whispered, sheathing himself in me again. He moaned and rocked his hips, watching himself enter me while I watched his face, marveling at how his eyes would scrunch up as if he was in pain, although the moans that tore through him clearly indicated he was enjoying himself very much. The more noise he made, the happier I became. I was doing this right, meeting each of his thrusts with my own, answering each of his grunts with an appropriate cry.

"Can you come?"

"I- I'm sorry. I don't think so."

"Fuck," he wheezed out, no longer rocking in and out of me in a fluid motion but rather pulsating deep inside. "Fuck," he repeated, and I felt the warmth and wetness of his ejaculation pour out of me as he pulled out. "Shit, that was just . . . you're so . . ."

He collapsed forward, his chest pressed against mine. "Oh, shit, you feel so good. Give me five minutes, okay? I promise I'll last longer."

_I could sleep like this, Isabella. You feel so good._

"What?" I couldn't move. A terrible memory reverberated in my mind.

"You feel so good, baby." Edward spoke but the voice wasn't his.

_You feel so good, Isabella._

I couldn't speak.

I couldn't breath.

"Bella?"

The weight on me. I cried out, pinned under his heavy body.

"What's wrong?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Heavy," I whispered.

"Am I hurting you?" He rolled off of me, but the pressure on my chest didn't cease.

"I can't breathe."

It was back. The darkness I couldn't escape cast its shadow upon me, pinning me to the bed under hefty despair.

**A/N - Sorry for the delay in this update. I've had some ongoing dental problems that made updating difficult. Your reviews are my happy place and all reviews received within 24 hours of the next update will receive previews.**

**I am irrevocably and unconditionally in love with you all!**


	24. Breaking Down

Facebook Status: Apparently there's no such thing as a nervous breakdown. I Googled. It's true.

The shadow. The weight. The terror. I shook myself off like a wet dog, trying to force the visions of Phil on top of me to dislodge themselves from my cerebral cortex like droplets of water. Epiphanies sucked ass, especially when they hit you in the throes.

Could I tell Edward I was in the midst of a nervous breakdown? Nah. My Sex-hair was too smart for that shit.

I gasped and coughed, choking on the strange sorrow hanging in the air. My throat tightened as if an elastic band constricted my esophagus, but still I tried to breathe slowly and deeply. I tried to remember how to calm myself through yogic breathing exercises as he stared at me, eyes wide with disarming innocence and absolute terror.

"Just . . . wait . . . need to catch . . . breath."

He chewed on his index finger, bewildered.

I still couldn't breathe properly. He probably expected me to say something, but my lungs wouldn't inflate. Maybe I was dying. Maybe I _was_ having a breakdown, even though there was no such thing.

_No such thing._

Anxiety, depression, stress, psychosis - all real enough conditions. But stress never reaches a breaking point, a proverbial cliff where it peaks and falls like an orgasm. That would be kinder than living in the shadow of constant terror.

I'd never had a nervous breakdown - not even when I decided to die. I wasn't having one now.

My psychiatrist back in Phoenix - who totally sucked balls, by the way - told my mom my dalliance with suicide was all about drawing attention to myself. The thing was, when I lived with Renee and Phil, the last thing I wanted was attention. I wanted to be left alone.

Which begs the question of why the fuck did I attempt to slit my wrists? Honestly, I didn't see any logical way out of my predicament, and I was just fucking exhausted from pretending what was happening didn't matter. I called it teenage angst, depression, boredom, because I couldn't very well put a name to what was really wrong.

But the second I felt Edward's body, hot and slick against my own, I knew the difference. I could put a name to it. What happened with Phil wasn't a product of our combined perverse natures, as he liked to wax psychotic about. I didn't want it. There was no part of me that wanted _that_.

It was rape. I knew it was rape; somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew.

Why didn't I put a stop to it? I couldn't fathom telling him to stop. Telling him to stop would require coming to terms with what was happening. It was easier to be nonchalant; to pretend it didn't really matter.

Who was it hurting anyway?

Questions and half-formed answers fired in my brain as I curled on the bed into a ball, like a hedgehog who'd forgotten her spiky armour.

"Bella?" Edward finally seemed to have finally mustered the courage to speak again. He jerked his shorts over his hips and pulled me into his arms, obviously beyond his depth.

"Don't touch me while I tell you this." Not because I didn't want his hands on me; I always wanted his hands on me. Context proved to be difficult at the moment, and I didn't want to relapse and start screaming "bad touching" like a psychotic rape victim. If I was a rape victim, I certainly was not psychotic.

This wasn't a breakdown.

Post traumatic stress syndrome was a crutch for the weak - totally another fallacy created by Pfizer. I loved Valium as much as the next depressive, but sometimes I wished people would just suck things the fuck up.

"This is obviously not a normal reaction," I finally said. "Please don't think you did anything wrong because you totally didn't."

"I- I don't know what to think. I'm a shit."

"You're not a shit." I ran my fingers through his damp hair. "This has nothing to do with you."

"You freaked out after we had sex, so I gotta assume it has _something _to do with me." He grabbed my hand and pulled it away from his head. "You said you didn't want to touch. I think that's probably a good idea."

"Don't be a cunt, Edward. I'm having a breakdown-slash-breakthrough, so get your ego in check for a second while I bare my soul to you."

"I don't have an ego," he said petulantly, and I snorted.

"You think you're bigger than Jesus."

He seemed to bristle at that, his telltale jaw flexing angrily.

"Fuck!" he spat, and his anger seemed to bubble over. "I'm taking you home, Bella. Put your clothes on." He grabbed my jeans and shit off the floor and threw them at me. "I've had enough of your bullshit."

"Wait!" I jumped off the bed without thinking and felt the worn carpet burn my knees as I prostrated behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Please . . . I have something very difficult to tell you and-"

"I can't believe this happened again," he interrupted, not listening to my blather. He untangled himself from my hold and stepped into his pants. "Do you enjoy making me feel like a rapist?"

"Stop, wait! It wasn't . . . I didn't mean . . . you're not! Please, just listen to me?" Still shirtless, he cringed away from me when I grabbed his arm. His skin felt cool against my hot fingers.

I shouldn't have asked him not to touch me. What if he never touched me again?

"Say whatever you have to say already. I hope to hell you have a good reason for making me feel like a-a . . . douchebag twice. I mean, I didn't want to . . . I said we should wait, but you have this choke hold over me. We shouldn't have - I knew it wasn't right. But fuck-"

"My stepfather sexually abused me for several years," I blurted before I lost my nerve. "No one knows except for Jake, my therapist, and possibly your father. I wanted it to end, so I made a half-assed attempt at killing myself. That's why my mother sent me to Forks . . . to be with my dad." I lowered my head, taking a deep breath to steel myself against another panic attack. "Sometimes I'm okay and stuff. I can pretend it didn't happen. Other times . . . not so much." I stopped speaking and looked at him. His eyes were wide, but they betrayed no emotion. "Um, I'm working through it, but sometimes I get a little lost. I'm very . . ." I tried to find the right word to explain how I felt most of the time, settling on, "sad."

"You . . . what?" Edward asked dumbly.

"I'm sad," I repeated. "Depressed. Lonely. Alone."

"Your stepfather hurt you?"

"Yes." I swallowed thickly, trying not to sob, trying to be clinical. "Continuously for four years."

His jaw flexed, his full mouth setting into a grim line. "My father . . . knows?"

Why wasn't he moving? That certainly wasn't a good sign.

"There's a chance I told him when I was running a seriously high fever, but I don't remember. He hooked me up with Dr. Banner."

"He- he knew and didn't tell . . ." Edward's brow furrowed, and he took a couple of clumsy steps back until he collided with the bed. "I mean, he should've told the police or something, right? This guy - your stepdad - needs to go to jail. He needs to . . ."

"It's okay." I pushed him down so he was sitting and crawled into his lap. He didn't move. "It's okay," I repeated, running my hands over his shoulders. "I love you, okay? It's going to be okay."

"Bella," he said softly. "I can't make this go away." He caught my hand and squeezed it. "Shit . . . I wish you told me before-"

"Before you fucked me," I interjected bitterly. "Because you wouldn't have."

He looked away as a terrible pain burned in my chest. "It wasn't the right thing to do," he admitted hoarsely, shaking his head. The words cut through me, but I had the perverse impulse to pick at the wound.

"You wish we never . . . did it? You don't want me?"

"Stop. I'm trying to process this. I care about you-"

"I love you!" I screamed. "I want you to love me too."

He nodded like a zombie and placed his hand limply on the small of my back. "Shh, Bella. It's okay."

"No," I choked. "Tell me . . . tell me . . ." The words wouldn't come out. A keening sob pushed through my lungs painfully instead.

"Shhh. I'm going to help you, sweetheart. Okay?" Finally, his arms tightened around me. "Lie down, pretty girl."

"Will you hold me?" I didn't want to let go of him. I didn't want him to disappear. He was slipping through my fingers like sand, and I couldn't stop it. "Please don't leave me?"

"I'm not leaving, baby. Close your eyes."

Obediently, I crawled off his lap and lay down. I felt him shift beside me; he pulled me so my back was flat against his front. "I've got you," he whispered. "Don't cry."

"Can't . . . help . . . it," I managed between hiccups.

"I've got you," he repeated, holding me firmly. His hand gently rubbed my arm as he lulled me by whispering soothing platitudes. My eyes grew heavy.

"Do you think I'm a freak?"

"No, sweetheart."

I rolled over and looked at him. "Prove it."

"How?"

"Kiss me."

He brought his lips gingerly to mine and offered me a chaste peck, which was ridiculous since I was naked. He withdrew, and that pissed me the fuck off. I grabbed him by the base of his skull and pushed his head back to mine, bumping my forehead in the process.

"More," I begged.

Just like always, we were like magnets. Only now, he was repelled by me instead of attracted.

"Bella . . ."

"What?"

"I'm not fucking you again."

"Like, never?"

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

I dug my fingers into his arm so hard I left marks on his pale skin. "Don't do this, Edward. Please? I just want to go back to how things were . . . before I told you." I threw my leg over his hip and dragged my crotch over his. The friction burned. "Please don't leave me?"

"Stop." He winced, steadying my hips. "I'm not leaving you. We can't do this though. It's not right." He extricated himself out of my vice grip and rolled me onto my back.

"You're not leaving me?" I asked pitifully, barely concealing the warble in my voice.

"I'm not. I promise." He offered me a weak smile. I felt his hand gently brush my hair away from my face. I ground my fists into my eyes - irritated from my tears - and cuddled into his chest.

"Okay. I believe you . . . Edward?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I don't want you to think I didn't enjoy it . . . you. I did. I love it when you're inside me."

He chuckled lightly. "I'm pretty fond of it too, pretty girl."

"It's like we're made to fit each other." I yawned.

"A perfect fit," he agreed.

"I'm going to want to do it again."

"Me too." His voice was husky, and his hand settled on my hip, pushing me fast against his side.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you . . . it's okay; you don't have to say it-"

"Love you too, babe," he mumbled, a soft snore immediately following.

-({})-

The buzzing of my cell phone woke me up. It had stopped ringing by the time I got my wits about me. Blindly, I groped the space beside me on the bed for Edward but found a small piece of paper in his stead.

_If you wake up before I'm back, don't freak out. I just went out to get us breakfast. I hope you take your coffee like you take your men ;)_

Like I took my men? What did that even mean? It was probably a lame joke that had something to do with cream. Unless he was also bringing back a bottle of whiskey. I mean, his last name _was _Cullen. I could take both my men and my coffee Irish.

My phone buzzed, and in my idiotic stupor, I answered it without thinking.

"Yeah?"

A terrible, rasping noise replied. It sounded like a loon that was too hoarse to sing but kept trying anyway.

"Speak, fucktard, or forever hold your peace." I stifled a giggle at the answering squawk.

I was about to hang up when I heard my name in a deep whisper. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the call display.

"Dad?" I whispered.

"Bella," he repeated, openly sobbing.

**A/N - aren't I bitch for ending the chapter there? I'm having the second of my mouth surgeries on Friday so I hope to write the next scene nice and high. The angst makes me twitchy.**

**I think I might have missed sending out a few previews. If I missed you, let me know. I'm not sure what I'll do but it'll be silly.**

**Reviews make me less twitchy.**


	25. Unfriended

**A/N - thanks to mac214 and jkane180 for beta'ing and DoUTrustMe for pre-reading. Thank **_**you **_**for reading!**

Facebook Status: my mother doesn't want to be my Facebook friend anymore.

"Jesus fuck!" I squeaked eloquently and tossed my phone off the bed, the horrible honking of Charlie's blubbering still ricocheting through my ear canal. "That coffee better be fucking Irish because I need to not be sober right now." I peeled the sheets off my body and swung my legs over the side of the bed, digging my toes into the carpet. My phone buzzed from its spot on the floor, the vibrations making it dance in a sad little circle.

_That's right, you little bitch - sit and spin! _My phone was a punk-ass traitor, and yes, I was fully aware that it was dumb to anthropomorphize my cell and direct my rage at it. Rational thinking wasn't exactly my forte.

"Okay," I said to the night stand. "He doesn't necessarily know, right? I mean, he could be crying for a total plethora of reasons that have nothing to do with Phil." It wasn't that I minded the idea of Charlie slicing off his balls, per se; it was just that I never wanted him to know about this shit. Now we'd never be normal. And what if he told Renee? She was totally going to blame me . . .

I couldn't even fathom it. My stomach threatened to erupt into burning lava at the thought.

Sadly, the night stand had no wisdom to offer, unless you counted the bible sitting arrogantly in the top drawer - which I didn't.

I grabbed the phone off the floor and pressed the link under Jake's ugly mug to dial his cell. His picture on the screen grinned like a smug asshole at me.

"Bella?" he whispered, all groggy and shit, like I just woke him up from a good dream.

"You're such a skank!" I screeched like a harpy . . . I mean, I probably did, having no idea what a harpy actually sounded like.

"Dude, where the fuck are you? Charlie's losing his mind. He was talking about draining the ocean to find you yesterday."

"What? Why?"

"Embry thought he saw you up on the cliffs, but I knew there was no way you'd jump."

"Show's what you know; I was totally going to jump. What do you mean there was no way?"

"I mean you wouldn't jump," he said in his smug, asshole voice.

"I totally would have!"

"Nah."

"Yeah-huh!"

"Did you?"

"Well, no . . ." I conceded. "But I was going to. I just changed my mind. Wait, you're distracting me."

Jake laughed with a genuine light-heartedness, an ease I envied. "Where are you, Bells? You need to come home and quit this melodramatic shit. Look, I'm sorry about the way I acted. I was a jerk, okay? I'm still your best friend; I'll help you talk to Charlie."

"Wait... what do you mean? I thought you told him."

"No. I mean, I was going to, but it didn't seem right. You need to tell him-"

I suddenly had trouble hearing anything other than the terrible ringing in my ears. My heart pounded quickly, my respiration desperately trying to keep up. I was running a marathon but not moving.

"Jake. Where's Charlie? Is he still with you guys?"

"Nah." He yawned. "He left a couple hours ago to speak with Dr. Cullen. I figured you were with _pretty boy,_ so I wasn't surprised when his daddy called. I told him all along that-"

I cut the call and pressed my finger on the power button until the screen turned black, glaring.

Well, shit.

"Okay," I said to the dresser. "What the fuck is going on?" Clearly I'd lost my mind, and as Hunter S. Thompson said: "Any thing worth doing is worth doing right."

"If Dr. Cullen told Charlie, why did he wait until now? I mean, he's known about Phil and me for weeks now. What the fuck changed?" The dresser frowned at me; the hardware looked like down-turned crescents, so I stuck my tongue out at it as I dragged my jeans over my legs.

"Where the fuck is my shirt?"

_Don't ask me. You never even bothered to open my drawer._

"Huh. Maybe I did have some sort of mental breakdown."

As much as it killed me to admit, my phone held much more wisdom than the cheap, particle board motel furniture. It was totally the source of all evil, but I had to check my email for collateral damage.

Holding my breath, I touched my passcode into the screen, pressing my Gmail shortcut as soon as the desktop came up. The blue inbox emerged, and the only new message was an iTunes receipt for Angry Birds.

I exhaled the air trapped in my lungs in slow relief like smoke from a cigarette, feeling my frenetic heartbeat finally slow to a jog.

Come to think of it, Charlie was probably just freaking out because I'd be been gone all night. That made sense! Jacob didn't tell him anything, and Dr. Cullen likely just called him because Edward was missing all night too.

A nagging in the back of my mind buzzed dully like an over-taxed refrigerator. I sucked the flesh of my lower lip into my mouth and chomped down compulsively - a nervous habit Renee absolutely detested. She hated all of my awkward idiosyncrasies that, typically, only a mother _would_ love.

My nails were always bitten down to the quick, my hands calloused and rough, my eyebrows messy, my nose oily, my shoes dirty. She was like a diamond ring in a glass display case - beautiful and untouchable.

She was so full of herself, she couldn't see past the massive shadow her ego cast over everything. Even her fucking blog was called "The World According to Renee," which would've been clever if she realized she was making a reference to a famous fucking book - which she didn't.

It occurred to me to check my Facebook suddenly. Taking another unsteady breath, I opened the app on my phone: there were no new messages.

That was good, right?

I mean, it's not like Phil or Renee would've posted shit on my wall or anything, but there would be some sort of indication if something was up. And Renee wasn't even in my feed at all!

Renee wasn't in my timeline anywhere.

Wait, what?

Renee blathered on Facebook more than I did! That couldn't be right.

My heart raced so quickly in my chest, it felt like a steady buzz as the realization of what had happened tore through me like a hurricane. I fell back against the bed, kicked in the chest by a terrible epiphany, the air knocked completely from my lungs.

I didn't need to be Nostradamus to see what was coming. All I needed to do was open my eyes for long enough to read the writing on the wall - or in my case, the lack of writing on the wall.

She'd unfriended me.

In the language of Renee, this was akin to abandonment.

I bit my lip again, fighting the urge to scream, yet at the same time, feeling strangely vindicated. I'd always known my mother wouldn't take my side if she ever knew. I afforded myself a moment to bask in this cold pleasure before I fell apart.

And I did fall apart.

Too many emotions fought their way through my gullet, twisting my gut into a mess of acid, as if I was repressing my terrible thoughts by eating them. Now I was regurgitating memories, sepia tinged images tangled with words - hands on the small of my back, thick fingers, hot breath, sweat and beer, hollow words, pleading and vicious.

In a crisis, it's human nature to call for one's mother. I used to call for mine in the night, when my dreams became night terrors. I couldn't help it; instinct is a hard thing to overcome.

She turned her beautiful, blue eyes away from me, blinding herself to what she couldn't live with knowing.

-({})-

_Shit and fuck!_ A shadow darkened the front window, and I jumped, surprised by the specter.

"Edward," I called dubiously, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders to cover my bare breasts. My eyes tightened, my limbs weary and weighted as I backed away from the door, half expecting Renee to burst through like a vengeful demon.

The door creaked open, casting a strange shadow over the wall in contrast with the sunlight that poured in through the window. In the early morning blaze, I caught sight of hair, red and copper like fire.

This wouldn't be a slow burn. Everything was about to incinerate.

"Hey," Edward greeted while I gaped. He set a brown paper bag and a coffee down on the depressive dresser, while staring at me with a guarded suspicion. "What's wrong?"

"What were you doing?" I asked quickly.

"Um, getting breakfast. How 'bout you?"

"Arguing with the furniture," I explained calmly. "So I have a question."

"Shoot." Edward busied himself by slicing and buttering a muffin he pulled out of the bag.

"Did you call your father?"

He dropped the plastic knife, his head snapping up. "Uh, yeah, why?"

"You told him . . . what did you tell him?"

"Don't freak out, okay?" He raised his hands in surrender, approaching me warily like I was a rabid dog or something.

"Edward!" His name flew from my mouth in a mournful whine. "He told Charlie. He told him!" I grabbed my shoe off the floor and threw it at his head. He ducked, and it hit the grimy wall, adding another scuff mark to the litany of unidentifiable stains. "Oh my fuck, do you know what this means?"

"Yeah, I do." He glared at me. "It means your stepfather will get his ass raped in prison finally, like he deserves."

Rage, red and hot, boiled my blood. I opened my mouth to speak, but a scream forced it's way out of my lungs before my mind could formulate words. When I ran out of air, I fought for another breath to yell but choked, making a sputtering sound which didn't articulate my emotions at all.

Words evaded me.

"I think it's time you find your shirt," Edward said evenly.

I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out his inappropriately calm expression so I could draw in air. Slowly, I counted, counted, counted until I forgot why I'd started counting in the first place and then gasped at the sensation of fingers suddenly dragging over my arms.

"What are you doing," I seethed.

"Dressing you." His voice was soft but insistent. "We're going home."

"The fuck we are. I'm not going anywhere with you." Shrugging my other arm into the shirt, I knelt down to peer under the bed for my other shoe.

"What are you doing?" he asked, exasperated. "C'mon, baby, stand up. There's nothing under the bed."

_Aha! _"This time I'm not aiming for your head," I warned, winding my arm back to throw with such spastic force, I managed to wrench my shoulder out of place. I cried out, the second shoe finally dropping.

"Stand still," I pleaded, needing to hurt him, wanting someone else to suffer.

"What are you doing?"

"Stand the fuck still!" My voice was a sob with a hint of a manic undertone; I struggled to make a sound above the painful tension in my throat. I gulped in air like water, drowning, dying with a bang instead of a whimper. My mind raced like a ream of film, a spinning dervish, and I couldn't settle my thoughts beyond the noise of agony.

I needed to release it; I couldn't hold all this pain on my own.

I pounded my fist into his solar plexus, and Edward gasped, staggering backwards onto the bed. Before the mattress had even stopped bouncing from the impact, I threw myself at him, landing on his stomach.

He caught me, his fingers digging into my hips as a scream, raw and primal, tore through me, tears like acid burning my vision.

But I couldn't stop hitting him, crying and yelling, my throat burning from merciless rage.

"Bella . . . stop," he pleaded weakly, not moving his fingers from me as my fist finally connected with his cheek in sickening crunch. My knuckles throbbed and ached, the pain having a sobering effect on my anger.

He cursed and rolled me onto my back, his weight heavy on me, his hands pinning my arms over my head.

"Get off of-"

His mouth was suddenly hot and violent against mine, his teeth biting my lower lip. I gasped, writhing beneath him, losing myself in his angry kiss. I felt dizzy as I pouted into his mouth, an ache between my thighs suddenly throbbing in time with my sore hand.

"I won't stand for that shit," he gasped, still holding my wrists as he dragged his tongue over my upper lip. "I've put up with a lot from you, Bella, but I won't let you use me as a punching bag."

"I'm sorry," I croaked, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Did I hurt you?"

"I want you," he said, ignoring my question. "Fuck, I want you and I can't . . . we can't."

"I'm sorry," I repeated, wiggling my hands until he let go of my wrists.

"Let me make love to you," he begged, his green eyes almost black.

I shook my head. "Please get off of me."

"Please," he begged, grinding his erection between my legs and burying his face between my breasts. My nipples tightened as he he licked each peak, my body arching off the bed.

"Don't," I moaned, pulling him tighter against me.

"So fucking hot." He fumbled with his belt and I closed my eyes, listening to him pant on top of me.

This wasn't what I wanted right now. My body responded to him, but my mind was in agony.

"Do you want me?" he begged, and I opened my eyes. He pulled his cock out of his boxers and stroked it, staring down at me expectantly. Jeez, he was hard. He ran his finger over the head of his dick, and I was pretty sure he was waiting for me to touch it too . . . but fucking him was the last thing I needed right now.

"I . . . I don't know," I faltered like a chickenshit. If I told him I didn't want him, he might leave me.

"Yes, you do," he insisted. "Either you want me or you don't." His hand - the one that wasn't pumping his dick - reached between my legs and sought out my clit. He rubbed furiously but I barely felt anything.

"I always want you, Edward . . . but I don't want to fuck you right now."

His hand stilled on my crotch for a moment before he rolled off of me. "Okay," he said, stuffing himself back into his pants.

"Okay?"

"Yeah . . . just give me a minute."

"Edward . . . are you angry?"

He rolled back over and wrapped his arms around me. "I'm pretty pissed that you hit me, but you punch like a girl."

"Do not! You totally have a bruise forming." I stroked his cheek gingerly, feeling mildly nauseated when he cringed. "It hurts?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous."

"So . . . you're not angry that I don't want to have sex?" I asked carefully.

"Of course not. It was stupid of me to start anything right now." He sounded contrite. "I don't want you ever to do something with me you don't want to do."

"I'll let you know as soon as I want to," I said quickly. "I'm sure you won't have to wait for long."

"I know I won't." He smirked, obviously cocky about, well, his cock.

"I'm still mad at you," I warned him.

"That's fine, but you shouldn't be. Are you ready to go home?"

"No," I said, sitting up to button my shirt. "But I need to talk to Charlie. Also, I have to kick your father in the nut sack. No time like the present."

"I'll hold him down for you," Edward muttered. I probably should've asked him what he meant by that.

**A/N - *ahem* sorry for the late update. I've had one of the worst bouts of writer's block in my life, and it took longer than I thought to recover from surgery. **

**I'm writing an outtake of Tomato for the fandom for sexual assualt awareness. Let me know which Edward POV you'd be interested in seeing. You can donate/contribute at fandom4saa . wordpress . com**

**My phone is in my back pocket. Please review me so my seat will vibrate?**


	26. Philomela

**A/N - mac made this chapter possible. I have a nasty habit of deleting everything I write lately. Big love to goldenmeadow for wc'ing my ass into submission.**

Facebook Status: BellaFlan Fanfiction now has a Facebook account. Please be her friend!

"Water?" Edward's voice sounded hoarse, like he'd been up all night smoking crack.

I shook my head, pressing my forehead against the passenger-side window and leaving an oily mark on the glass.

"Whiskey?"

I glared at him, and he laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. My neck snapped, and my head spun away in my best Linda Blair impression because no fucking way could I look at him right now. He distracted me, and I needed to get my shit together to face Charlie.

My stomach felt raw and empty, acid corroding it into Swiss cheese. Nausea flooded my mouth with bitter saliva, and the constant lurching of sex-car wasn't helping matters much. Sweat poured down my skin in rivulets; every discernible nook and crevice of my body felt drenched. Of course, the seat warmers made things worse; my ass sweat like a greased pig.

I glared at the instrument panel on the dash, searching for a glowing button with an asscrack on it. I mean, Volvos were supposed to be intuitively designed, right?

Yeah, there was no such button, and the nausea only intensified in the heat.

Edward drove the way a pubescent puppy humped - fast, aggressively, and with something to prove. I bit my fingernails to the quick, listening to the engine ignite and rev and sputter.

He cursed under his breath as the ass-end of a Buick became perceptibly larger in the windshield. Rather than simply pass the offending vehicle, he made a show of pounding on the clutch and down-shifting the stick into fourth as the engine dropped into my gut. He held it there, pushing on the gas to gather momentum before wrenching the shifter back into fifth. The clutch released, and the tires screamed obscenely as we passed in the oncoming lane.

_That's right, bitch. Who's your daddy? _

"You're gonna burn out your clutch," I muttered, and he chuckled in reply. It was the first time I'd spoken since we left the motel. "And turn the fucking heat off."

"No problem. I'm turning the _fucking_ heat off," he mocked, letting go of the stick for a second to turn a knob with a skillful flick of his wrist. "And I thank you for your concern, but what do you know about stick?"

I shrugged, careful to keep my eyes averted from his. "I handle yours well enough."

"True."

The skyline buzzed by in the window as I half slumped in my seat, vacantly watching the world go by in a green streak of motion.

I wanted to be a tree.

"What're you thinking?"

"Oh my fuck! Are your balls descended ovaries or some shit?" I complained, whipping my head around, my neck aching from the constant whiplash. Meh, I was a melodramatic bitch. "I mean, guys aren't supposed to ask that question."

"Sorry for giving a fuck," he said casually, but I sensed an underlying tension in his voice.

"You should probably just ignore me right now, Edward. I'm having a panic attack."

"Oh yeah?" He smirked. "Do you have discharge?"

"Guh?"

"Remember when I went to see you at the hospital that first time? You said you had a panic attack and discharge?"

"I said no such thing. God, sexual compulsive much?"

"Totally," he replied in a tone that made me think he was mimicking me.

"This is a terrible and serious situation, and I'll thank you to not act like an ass."

We fell back into an uncomfortable silence for a while, and I managed to keep my mind blissfully blank . . . that was, until we passed by the bait shops that dotted the highway just outside the La Push turn-off. Charlie used to take me to the craft stands when I summered in Forks as a kid because I loved the hand-whittled animals. I wondered idly what happened to my collection.

Edward turned on the radio, and I felt my face twist into a sneer, my stomach lurching.

"Fucking no!"

"Are you about to freak out?" he asked warily.

"Yes! I can't handle music right now. And dude, really? Britney Spears? That cunt fills me with rage."

"Shit, okay. I'm turning it off." His hand rested on mine for a moment, and I sighed; despite my umbrage, his touch still comforted me.

That's when I really looked at his face. A purplish bruise had begun to bloom over his jaw - an impressionist violet spattered on a stubbly canvas. It was pretty, in a Monet-meets-Dali kind of way.

"I think you've dealt with enough fallout for, well, a lifetime." I ran my fingers over the bruise and thought about melting clocks. My mother had taken me to the Salvador Dali museum in St. Petersburg, Florida when Phil was at spring training last year.

Renee liked to move quickly through any kind of museum, but at this particular gallery, I'd found myself transfixed by the strange colours, the juxtaposition of erotic and religious imagery, and the many optical illusions.

Nothing was as it seemed, yet everything was as it should be.

"This picture is what my poetry looks like," I'd told her. _The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory - _the melting clocks.

"It's nice." She'd clucked her tongue distractedly.

_It was nice. _

That's when I'd noticed she wasn't looking at the picture; she'd looked through it. Her eyes bent light like glass, never absorbing anything but reflecting outwardly. Everything was an illusion if you looked at it for long enough.

"Renee . . . we don't know each other very well, do we?"

She'd laughed, her blank face transforming into a warm smile. "Don't be silly, baby."

We'd probably made a pretty picture in that moment, the two of us. _Look_: mother and daughter, Mary and Mary, virgin and whore. _Look closer_. _Look at the real picture, the truth depicted deep within the layers of stippled chaos. _

Did anyone see the truth?

"You don't know me," I'd whispered acridly.

A shadow fell over her face. "I know you better than anyone."

_Did she?_ Because I had no clue who I was. I'd spend the rest of my life reconciling the girl I wanted to be with the whore Phil turned me into.

-({})-

"Go home, Edward," I pleaded, staring at the knots in the wood siding with such intensity my vision blurred.

"I'm worried about you," he said gruffly. He sounded like Charlie.

"You can't be here right now." Really, he couldn't be. But I also couldn't seem to summon the courage to open the front door. "Shit. Fuck... shit again!"

"What? What is it, baby?"

"Don't call me baby," I snapped, my voice breaking. "My mother calls me that."

"Sorry." His hand grazed my lower back gingerly in a sad gesture of comfort. Every muscle in my body became rigid, but I glanced at his arm with affection, oddly enchanted by the soft cotton of his shirt.

"I don't know how to be around him now . . . now that he knows what I did. I mean, every time Charlie looks at me all he'll see is-"

"Bella," Edward said firmly, an emotion I couldn't identify thickening his voice. "You have to stop that . . . he's not going to look at you any differently. This was something that was done to you. It doesn't change who you are."

A laugh, maniacal and ugly, rushed out of my lungs. "Of course it does! I'm who I am _because_ of what Phil did. Every little idiosyncratic thing about me - even the stuff you like - is a product of what happened. Shit, Edward . . . I can't separate myself from it. That's just naive."

"I fucking hate this."

"Yeah," I agreed, twisting the handle on the door. "This just pure sucks."

As soon as it squeaked open, Charlie came flying down the hall like a bullet from a barrel.

"Get out of my house," he growled. I wasn't sure if he meant me.

"Dad . . ." I closed my eyes and recited The Wastleland in my head to keep from thinking.

_A__pril__ is the cruellest month, breeding__ lilacs out of the dead land, mixing__ memory and desire, stirring__ dull roots with spring rain . . ._

"Please, Chief Swan," Edward said softly, bravely. "I care about your daughter, and she's freaked out."

"Leave. Now." His voice . . . it wasn't right. My lids flew open; I didn't recognize my father's eyes. They were crazed in an all-the-way-psychotic kind of way. I also noticed he still had on his uniform, including the gun and holster.

"Please," I added desperately. "I can't do this with you here." Something pivotal was about to change between Charlie and me. Edward couldn't be here to witness it.

He rubbed the small of my back quickly, whispering, "I'll be in the car."

"Go home."

"No." He turned away from me and walked out, leaving the front door open.

I sunk my teeth into my lip, turning on my heel and stiffening as Charlie's hand landed on my shoulder.

"Dad," I started, unsure of what to say. His hand felt like hot iron, a weighted inferno pushing into my collar bone, collapsing my chest. I shrugged it off me.

"Why, Bells?" he pleaded. I faced him even though it near killed me to look at him. He hunched in front of me, gasping and shuddering like he couldn't breathe properly. Upon closer inspection, his face was nearly macabre. Tears gathered in the deep wells under his eyes, the skin there a darkened, haunted purple. I'd never seen him shed a tear in my life.

"Why what?" I asked sluggishly, backing up against the wall so it would help me from crumbling onto the floor. The unspoken words between us weighed a ton.

"They said . . . Dr. Cullen said . . . your doctor wouldn't tell me anything, but Cullen . . ."

"What did he say?" I felt naked and bruised - completely on display.

"That you . . . shit, Bells. Is this why you tried to die? How could you live like that for so long?"

He couldn't say the words. I didn't blame him.

"I didn't want to live like that at all. I didn't ask for any of it." Shame burned through my veins, boiling my blood in ill-begotten anger. "Are you blaming me too?"

"No!" He yelled, snot shooting out of his nose. He broke out into hiccups, his face turning purple.

"Shit, Dad, breathe!"

"Why . . ." he wheezed, "didn't you tell me?"

"It wouldn't have helped anything," I said simply.

Charlie couldn't find breath enough to speak, but his eyes clearly blazed, _why the hell not?_

"The damage was done. Telling would only hurt everyone."

He bowed his head into his fists before pounding them into his skull several times. "You were protecting Renee."

"No, Dad. Let me explain." I searched my mind for a fishing metaphor, but it was all Greek to me. Not fishing, my explanation. "This was my tragedy, plain and simple. It was containable and small, but the more people who found out, the worse it became."

I tried to pull Charlie's fist away from his face. "There's this ancient Greek myth about a woman named Philomela-"

"Don't try to baffle me with bullshit." His voice was weak, but his eyes burned furiously.

"I have to; it's my way." I smiled weakly. "So, Philomela, this ancient Greek chick . . . you see, she's raped by a king - her sister's husband - and she decides that the world should know. Well, the king doesn't like this very much, so he cuts out her tongue."

Charlie's eyes widened maniacally. "Did he threaten to cut out your tongue?"

"No, Dad," I said softly. "Let me finish, okay?"

He nodded, but I wasn't really sure he was listening. "Philomela wove a tapestry that depicted what happened to her and sent it to her sister. Well, her sister got revenge on her husband by killing their child and cooking him for supper."

"What?"

"The Greeks were melodramatic and horrifically violent. That's why they're the cradle of our civilization."

"Why are you telling me this shit, Bells?"

"Because it's easier to speak in code than to tell you what happened to me."

"What happened?" he demanded gruffly.

"The gods turned Philomela and her sister into birds to save them from the king's wrath."

"To you . . . I need to know. Please . . . what did that bastard do to you?" Charlie kept is eyes carefully averted, but I could tell the whites were nearly pink from crying.

"I can't-"

"Tell me!"

I swallowed slowly, feeling my heart slow and my respiration decrease as a cold calm took over my body. "Phil sexually abused me. It started four years ago."

Charlie already had a gun in his holster since he hadn't yet removed his uniform, but for some reason, he unlocked his gun cabinet and collected a rifle, along with several rounds of ammo.

"Oh my god, Dad, where are you going?" I really didn't need to ask. The answer was evident in the determined way he clipped his bullets to his belt and stomped out the front door, his heavy boots leaving dents on the lawn.

"Phoenix."

"You're going to shoot Phil?" I gasped.

"No, the bullets are for your mother," he sneered and disappeared into the garage. He emerged seconds later with a set of old, rusted gardening shears. "These are for Phil."

"What?" I screamed. "You can't!"

"Stay put," he warned, pulling the cruiser door open so violently I thought it might separate from the frame.

"Charlie . . . Dad, you can't."

My words fell on deaf ears.

My mother . . . he couldn't possibly mean what he said.

The nausea that'd been taunting me all day finally made good on its promise, and I vomited beside the driveway as Charlie tore out of the driveway.

"Edward," I sobbed through the burning in my throat. Thank fuck the Volvo was still parked in front of the house. I lay down on the lawn and said his name several times.

A murder of crows flew by overhead, and a heady darkness clouded my vision. The tree line was the last thing I saw before succumbing to oblivion.

Fuck. I really wished I could be a tree.

**A/N - this chapter was really difficult to write. I'd love to know what you think.**

**one-shot rec - A Voice in the Darkness by katinki. It hurts to read but it has an important message to it.**

**Soapbox: April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. Write, donate, read! fandom4saa . wordpress . com**

**I love you all for reading. Love me back with a little phone buzzzzzz**


	27. Absurdities

**A/N: I can't thank mac enough for her tireless edits of my crap. I love her! The very SEXSY DoUTrustMe also made this better. I wrote a lot after the beta so all mistakes are mine.**

Facebook Status: Keep calm and stroke the furry wall

Crazy people don't know they're crazy. I held that truth to be self-evident and such. Here's the thing: I felt bat-shit nuts, like I stood outside of my body and watched my sanity plunge off of the precipice of reason and into the abyss of the unknown.

My father took the better part of me with him when he fled the house with an arsenal of rage, hate, and weaponry. Because my secret could not be contained, the deplorable truth had finally burst forth, imploding under a great pressure like lava, rendering my world into ash.

There would be no coming back from what Charlie proposed to do, and I felt impotent to stop him, unable to move or even breathe as I languished on the lawn in front of my house next to a shallow puddle of my own vomit. In truth, I didn't know if I even _wanted_ to stop him.

No. Of course I did. The ramifications of Charlie's vigilante act were unthinkable.

"Bella?"

"Gurgle . . ."

"Shit," I heard Edward curse as I rolled over onto my side, listening to his footfalls diminish and cease. Where did he go? I kind of wished he'd drag my body deep into the woods and leave my broken soul there to die. There was no dignity in giving in to a psychotic breakdown on one's own lawn. _What will the neighbours think?_

My train of thought had derailed . . . moments ago there'd been a precipice, a dive into the unknown, and now I was drowning in the murky waters of self doubt, grappling blindly for my lost mind like a life preserver. Wait, that metaphor was dumb. I _could_ blame the fact I was totally and certifiably insane on my bad poetry, except all my favourite poets were fucking nut jobs, which meant I simply no longer had any real creativity.

"Bella?"

Oh, good, Sex-hair had returned.

"Roll over, sweetheart. This will make you feel better." He pressed something wet against the top of my skull, gingerly tucking my hair behind my ears. Whatever it was felt soggy and heavy like tea bags. He was tea bagging me. _Kinky_.

"Whaa . . ."

Water dripped down my forehead, warm like tears. Edward chewed on his lip as if he'd adopted my nervous affectation by proxy. I felt numb, my brain prickling with pins and needles.

"Whaat's . . . "

"That's good, Isabella," Dr. Cullen urged. "Try to speak."

What was Dr. Dad doing here? When did he arrive, and how much time had passed?

"Huhh . . . " My pupils screamed at the penlight he shined directly into them. "Fuuuu!"

"Dad!" Edward snapped. "What the fuck?"

"Charlie," I moaned. "S-stop him."

"Asshole," Edward hissed, his pretty voice sounding volatile and oddly juvenile in its petulance. "This is _your_ fault."

"Mine?" My chest rose and fell convulsively as I heaved, burning from the inside out, rolling and lolling about like a baby. I regurgitated water onto the lawn. My stomach emptied completely.

"No, Bella, mine," Dr. Cullen clarified. "You need hydration."

"I got her a Gatorade." Edward sat down beside me on the grass and dragged me into his lap. "Drink this."

"I like the blue flavour better," I protested, but popped the seal open and poured the cool liquid over my tongue, not bothering to taste anything. I swallowed several times and cleared my throat, testing my voice. "Thanks," I said slowly, drawing out the sound and pressing my head into the crook of Edward's arm. He flexed.

"Bella, I'd like to take you to the hospital. You're exhibiting symptoms of shock." Dr. Cullen appraised me in that clinical manner that only doctors could pull off, tender and cold all at once. I wondered if he was going to skull fuck me with a tongue depressor. Oh my fuck, why did I think such awful things?

"I'm fine," I managed. "But I need to get to the airport, like, now."

"No!" Edward snapped. "Why?"

"Did you see him - Charlie, I mean?" I took a swig from the bottle in earnest now, the sugars spurring my body out of stasis. Edward stood slowly, offering me his hand, but I swatted it away pridefully. Jumping to my feet, I swayed and stumbled for a moment. A jolt shot through me, knocking the air from my lungs as I did my best impression of a linebacker and tackled Edward. He grunted, his chest absorbing the brunt of my weight.

"Fuck, you can barely stand," he huffed, sounding all kinds of pissed off. "No way will you be able to fly."

"Is that a double dog dare?" My voice shook despite the bravado of my words.

"Bella . . . you're not in any condition to fly." Dr. Cullen plucked a prescription pad and a pen from his pocket and scribbled something down in the secret language of pharmacology that I couldn't discern. "Do you have any allergies?"

"I'm allergic to lies . . . and aspirin. What are you doing?"

"Do your fingers and toes feel numb?"

"No. I'm fine," I protested as he pressed his finger into my wrist to take my pulse. "I'm strong as a bull . . . a bull with mild tachycardia."

"Funny," Dr. Carlisle said, frowning. "Your colour is good. Does your chest feel tight at all?"

"My chest always feels tight," I replied without thinking. The constant weight on me never let up for long enough to take a proper breath. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes and my throat constricted.

"Shit, Dad. She's fine. She's upset, not sick." Edward swatted the pad out of his father's hand. "How long did you know about this?"

"Now's not the time-"

"No," Edward agreed. "Now certainly isn't the time. You should've called the police as soon as Bella told you what her stepdad did to her."

"Son-"

"Because for the life of me, I have no fucking clue what you were waiting-"

"Edward," I interrupted as gently as I could. "I'm not stable, and it was a really serious accusation."

Dr. Cullen swallowed thickly. "I'm so sorry, Bella."

"I wouldn't have believed me either."

"You seemed so desperate for attention . . ." His voice sounded apologetic despite the harsh observation.

"What changed your mind?" I asked.

"Edward."

"Oh."

"I'm so fucking disgusted by you," Edward choked, his jaw becoming almost scarlet as angry blood flushed his face. "How could you doubt her?"

"I used my best judgement given the information I had."

"Then you have no business diagnosing people. You're too fucking blind to recognize what's in front of you."

"Okay, so, I'm leaving." They could take turns trying to piss the furthest without me. "My father said he's going to kill my mother so, as you can imagine, I've got some shit I gotta do."

Dr. Cullen's jaw dropped at my lacklustre proclamation, so I added, "I'm pretty sure he won't, but uh . . . that's not really a risk I feel comfortable taking."

"Wait, what?" Edward's voice cracked and rose an octave.

"He took a gun. He blames her," I explained as calmly as I could manage.

"You can't face this . . . your stepfather alone."

I shrugged, hiding my face behind a curtain of hair. "It'll be fine. No one call the police, okay? I don't want Charlie getting arrested."

"Bella," Dr. Cullen began cautiously, "you can't expect me not to alert the authorities to this."

"Sure I can. Clearly I'm only saying this shit because I crave attention."

"Bella's lying," Edward corroborated.

"Totally."

-({})-

"You don't have to come with me." It felt weird to walk through an airport without luggage - strangely liberating.

"I want to. I love any excuse to miss school." Edward smiled impishly, trying to keep the mood light as we approached the security check-point. A man clad in officious, navy polyester tapped his foot aggressively on the ground, glaring at us with expectant eyes.

"International or domestic?" he asked.

"Domestic," I whispered, handing him our boarding passes.

He ushered us through like cattle in an abattoir. When we reached the back of the line, I leaned against Edward, pressing my ear to his chest to listen to his heart. It beat so slow. My own heart was in constant flux, racing against my unpredictable emotions.

"Your mother's going to be fine," he said suddenly. "Charlie is really messed up right now; it's easier to be pissed off at her than to deal with the reality of what happened."

"That's an astute assessment of a guy you don't really know," I mused, gripping the sleeve of his shirt for dear life as the line inched forward.

He shrugged. "Your dad's a good guy. I mean, I only know him casually, but I don't think he's capable of it . . . killing her."

This conversation was positively surreal in its absurdity. I felt like Samuel Beckett.

"What if he thought she knew about what Phil did to me?" Terrible thoughts. Bureaucratic lines were unhealthy for my state of mind. "What if she knew, but didn't say anything because she had too much to lose?"

"Bella . . . _did_ she know?"

I couldn't be sure. "I need to talk to her . . . warn her."

He squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry, pretty girl."

"Why?"

"For so many reasons. Just . . . sorry you have to go through this shit. Sorry things didn't turn out differently for you. I mean, if you stayed in Forks - if your mother never met Phil-"

"Ah, regret: the most useless since sliced bread . . . uh, wait, that's dumb."

"I just wish things could be different," he said defensively.

"Regret is wasteful."

"So is hate," he pointed out, "and self pity."

"Touché. And by the way, I really fucking hate baseball." My mouth twisted into a pout, or maybe a frown.

"Why?" he indulged. I supposed he'd grown accustomed to my non-sequiturs by now.

"If baseball didn't exist they never would've met. Do you regret baseball?"

"Uh . . ."

"And if my parents never met, I never would've been born. So you can regret Jose Cuervo for causing me."

"I wouldn't-"

"Because if Renee didn't get pissed drunk, she wouldn't have fucked Charlie. Did you know I'm the personification of an angry fuck? Like, literally?"

"Stop it, Bella," he hissed through gritted teeth, like an angry parent warning a child to behave. "I hate it when you talk shit about yourself. Your self-image is warped."

"No, your reverence of me is. I don't understand it. You can't make fine china out of horse shit."

"Are you done?" he asked as we approached the front of the line. It was time to nut up.

"Hardly." I fucking hated going through airport security. Without fail, I was privy to some sort of terrible humiliation at the hands of a glorified mall cop. "Get in a different line, please."

"Why?"

"Please?" I whined, and he muttered something under his breath as he walked away.

I grabbed a grey bin from a neat stack and stumbled into another line-up for the metal detector, keeping a respectable distance away from Edward. I shrugged my sweater off my shoulders and dropped it, along with my shoes, into the bin, rolling it over the casters through the x-ray machine.

"Any weapons?" Inquired a large woman in a drab uniform - her glossy, dark hair pulled rather unfortunately back at the base of her neck in a messy bun.

"No," I replied quickly. I mean, who the fuck would answer in the affirmative to such a question? "Oh, shit . . . I have a lighter. Is that considered a weapon?"

"Depends how you use it." She smirked. "Only one lighter?"

"Yeah."

"One is fine."

_But two is considered a weapon?_

"No baggage?" she asked me suspiciously.

"Yeah, lots." I chuckled, walking through the metal detector. "Just not the kind you can x-ray, if you catch my drift." Which she totally didn't.

_Beep!_

"Remove your watch and walk through again."

"I'm not wearing a watch," I protested, but otherwise did what she asked.

"Huh. Do you have any piercings?"

"No."

"A metal post in your spine?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Place your hands on the table," she said coolly, snapping a rubber glove over her hand.

"Fuck."

Edward looked at me with mild amusement as the security guard stuck her hand into my bra. My perverse sense of humour made me want to crack a joke about having a condom full of cocaine up my ass, but I managed to occupy my tongue by biting on it.

"I don't understand it . . ."

"This always happens. My blood must be rich in iron or something."

"Alright. You're fine," she concluded, removing the glove.

Except I didn't feel fine at all.

"That was . . . interesting," Edward mused, swallowing a smirk.

"I'm glad you find this situation funny. Hey, could you do me a favour?" I batted my eyelashes coquettishly.

"What do you need."

"I need you to call my mother," I instructed, passing him the phone. "I need you to tell her to get the fuck out of the house before Charlie shows up to blow her head off."

"He wouldn't . . ."

"Just hedging my bets," I said simply.

**A/N - your reviews sustain me like the life-giving tomato. Oh and I will totally explain the story title before the end of the fic. I managed two updates of Tomato this week! Shadow will be updated soon.**

**The Facebook status is a reference to the movie Get Him to the Greek. I'm in love with Russell Brand. Don't Judge.**

**Airport security: that actually happened to me in front of my boss. I still don't know why I set off the metal detector. **

**Fic Recs: Dead Confederates by GoldenMeadow. I can't even begin to explain... just read the fucker.**

**Strange Brew by Magnolia822 - she shares a beta with me. She also loves beer. If you like sex and beer, you'll get off on this fic too.**

**I'm gonna sit on my phone now. Please buzz me.**


	28. Denial and Truth

**Author's Note: due to the Easter holiday, this chapter is beta and pre-reader light. Thank you to the lovely - and decidedly sick in the head - mac for doing the beta. **

**If you like music while reading or are interested in my inspiration while writing this chapter, check out Angus and Julia Stone's song, "I'm Not Yours Anymore." Thank fuck for Goldenmeadow for recommending songs to help me through writer's block. **

**Also, thanks to the wired and crazy talented catonspeed for her amazing Tomato banner! I'll put it up on my profile page - check it out!**

Facebook Status: I'm not yours anymore

_There's something on the wing of the plane! _

Oh my god, I always wanted to yell that out for real whenever I flew. I snickered, thinking about a young William Shatner in that old Twilight Zone episode. He was actually kind of hot in the dark ages - um, 1960-something-or-other - back when he still had that Captain Kirk swagger.

The sixties were a mystery to me anyway. I mean, that was before the birth of the Internet, or WiFi, or, fuck, even microwaves. No wonder everyone was high all the time.

The cabin air tasted stale. I dragged my tongue over my chapped lips and tried to act normal by not screaming, even though it would have been funny as fuck.

"What are you thinking about?" Edward looked at me with stoically, his eyes narrowing with concern. Sometimes he appeared years beyond his true age . . . like a centenarian in the body of an Abercrombie model.

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

It was so god damned hot in here! Sweat collected under my arms, itching my pits. Raising my arm and fanning myself, I twisted the knob on the bulkhead above our seats, but I only managed to turn the tiny light on. It might as well have been a spotlight. I suppressed a groan of vexation, burying my face in my clammy palms.

So, there was a chance I was totally high or whatever.

"You okay?" he asked, a wary tension in his tone.

"Yeah. Hot."

In the darkness behind my lids, I saw my mother's face, her blue eyes cold steel - a knife that sat between my ribs, precariously close to my heart. I breathed carefully, my lungs expanding under the weight of my fear; a shooting pain tore at my chest . . . death by a thousand tiny cuts.

A strange melody warbled out of my throat, a descant to my sorrow. I pressed my cheek to Edward's shoulder and whispered the song into his jacket. My sharp soprano sounded like broken crystal clanging together.

"Um, Bella? How many Xanax did you take . . . exactly?"

"Four." I wiped a spot of drool off the corner of my mouth. "But dude, my tolerance for this stuff is epic." Not that I should've been bragging about it.

"Yeah, I can tell. You seem to like barbiturates a little too much."

"Well, as a sexual compulsive, I suppose I could say the same thing about you," I taunted coyly, cupping his balls a little less than discreetly. "Bar - bitch - you - ate." He covered my hand with his but didn't stop me from rubbing.

"Funny," he grunted.

"So . . . did you?" My fingers curled, hooking between the buttons of his fly. I closed my eyes as my hand made contact with the silky, hot skin of his cock. This was all kinds of inappropriate, but my mind was reeling, my thoughts racing like Robin Williams doing a stand-up routine on speed.

"Did I what?" he panted, lifting his hips off the seat to allow me better access to his junk.

"Eat a lot of bitches." I stopped moving my fingers, listening to my heart push a steady pulse of blood through my body, the sound echoing in my ears.

"I- I don't want to talk about it right now, pretty girl." His smooth voice became rough, his relaxed expression tensing under my scrutiny.

"I'm not mad. I mean, I know you have a problem." Despite the terrible reality that threatened to crash down around us at any second, touching him felt nice. I loved the way his lips parted, his eyebrows raising as if in surprise as I stroked his length.

"I'm a sick fuck, baby."

"You're my sick fuck," I said fondly. "I'm sorry we never talk about your troubles. I want to know more."

"Like . . . now?"

"Yeah," I said softly, drawing my sweater over his lap, my hand beating like hummingbird wings beneath the makeshift blanket. "Like, now."

"I mean . . . it's just that there's some pretty major shit going down right now. I don't want to unload-" His words cut off as a groan tore through him. It was a good thing our flight was under booked. Giving a handjob in public just was poor manners by most people's standards.

"You don't want to unload?" I teased, running my finger over the head of his cock.

He wheezed out a laugh. "You know what I mean."

"Tell me what it's like."

"Bella . . . I can't. Not with you touching my dick."

I stopped moving my hand but didn't break contact. "Go ahead."

He sighed heavily. "It's like . . . it's all I can think about most of the time. It's like being thirsty constantly, but no amount of water can quench it."

"That's rather abstract."

"I know. It makes me uncomfortable . . . talking about it."

"I understand." I cuddled into his chest and added, "You can trust me, you know. I just want you to trust me with your shame the way I trust you with mine."

His head snapped up. "You have nothing to be ashamed of!"

"Neither do you, pretty boy."

-({})-

We sat in a cab outside my mother's house. The lack of police tape encouraged me enough to call my father while the driver, like an asshole, kept the meter running.

"Bella? Where are you?" Anger clipped Charlie's words, but I almost cried with relief at the sound of his voice.

"Where are _you_?" I evaded.

"The 101 South . . . northern California, I think."

"Dad . . . you can't drive all that way. You can't really kill them. You know that, right?"

He sighed heavily, and I prayed to cod or whatever fish he worshipped that my words were getting through to him.

"I can't just sit back and let him get away with it."

"Please go home. Just turn around and go home."

"I- I can't. Christ, Bells, I need to make that son of a bitch pay! Renee needs to fucking explain herself."

"Dad," I began carefully, "I'm here. I've come to talk to Mom. I'll press charges, and he'll pay for what he did, okay? I swear. But . . ." My throat choked off with tears and a heavy ball of phlegm. "I need you. I need you _not _to go to prison and stuff."

"You're . . . where are you?"

"Phoenix. Sitting outside of Mom's house." It didn't feel like my house anymore.

"The fuck?" he raged.

"Wait! Don't freak out. Edward's with me."

Charlie made that terrible honking bird sound, and my heart ripped in two.

"Don't cry, Dad."

"Put him on the phone."

"Uhhh . . . " I glanced nervously at Edward.

"What?" he mouthed.

"My father wants to speak with you." I shoved the phone to his ear without warning. "Just talk to him."

Edward made a surprised grunting sound into my phone while I contemplated biting my fingers since the nails were already chewed to the quick.

"Hello, sir," he said politely. Something about his Eddie Haskell demeanour turned me on a bit.

I couldn't hear what Charlie said to him, but Edward's eyes widened in apparent surprise.

"Um, no . . . sorry."

"What did he ask?" I hissed.

"No, sir. I don't . . . but I think I could work a chainsaw if I had to."

_Oh my god!_

"Well, because my father doesn't condone gun violence . . . er, not that there's anything wrong with hunting."

"Give me the phone!"

Edward raised his index finger for me to wait, and I showed him a different finger in reply.

"Got it . . . yeah, of course . . . no problem. If he goes anywhere near her, I'll aim for his genitals," Edward vowed, wincing. He passed me the phone while I gawked.

"Uh . . . Dad?"

"That Edward seems like a good kid," he said gruffly and cut the line.

-({})-

I lit a cigarette even though I didn't really smoke. Pursing my lips over the filter, I took a shallow drag and knocked on the door.

"Deflection," I muttered under Edward's incredulous glare. "Renee hates cigarettes."

"That's . . . reasonable."

"Like, I dunno . . . maybe she'll yell at me for smoking before we get down to the brass tacks of the whole Phil-abused-me-for-years-and-I-never-"

The door squeaked open, and my jaw fell, the cigarette popping out of my mouth.

I dropped to my knees for no reason that I could think of and stared at a pair of meticulously manicured feet wearing Birkenstocks.

"Hi," I muttered at my mother's big toe.

"Get up," she replied, her voice choking off with . . . I didn't know what. Rage? Sadness, maybe?

I stood, my legs shaking like a baby giraffe taking her fist steps.

_Renee. _I took in her face bit by painful bit, afraid to face the whole of her too quickly.

Her face seemed redder than usual, weathered like tanned leather. She blinked slowly, glaring at me with those gunmetal blue eyes.

Fear and rage tried to reach my brain, but somehow, the emotions lodged in my chest painfully.

I hated her. I did.

Conversely, I wanted to throw myself into her arms and cry. The deluge of emotions that flooded through me, overtaking my rage, left me dizzy with sorrow.

I wanted her. Despite everything, god fucking help me, I wanted my mommy.

"What do you want, Bella?" She sounded tired rather than cruel.

"You," I stammered honestly. _I want you._

She laughed meanly, tears falling in rivulets down the lines of her cheek. "Me?"

"I mean . . ." _Fuck!_ "I don't want you . . . I want . . ."

"How could you, Bella?" she whined with sudden despair. "How could you tell such a filthy, disgusting lie? Phil's career is ruined!"

"Mrs. Swan-"

"Dwyer," Renee snapped at Edward.

"Mrs. Dwyer, Bella didn't lie. How could you accuse her of that? She's your daughter! She's-"

"No," she replied sadly, shaking her head and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "She's not mine anymore."

I'd known.

I knew she'd react like this, but hearing the words . . .

"I'm not . . . yours," I repeated.

"No daughter of mine would do what you did to me."

What I did to her.

"Okay," I whispered. "You don't believe me. Well, you know what? I don't believe you either. I don't believe that you don't know the truth."

"Fuck you!" She stepped back to close the door.

"Wait! I need to tell you two things." I pressed my teeth into my lips trying to keep my voice even. "Two things and then I'll never contact you again."

She didn't reply.

"So, first off . . . don't open the door for Charlie. If you see him, call the police."

"Is that it?" She spoke through gritted teeth.

"No. Also, Phil has a diamond-shaped birthmark on his cock, and he told me you give lousy head."

**A/N Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate: Easter, Passover, Toastarianism, etc. Reviews make me happy - I appreciate all comments.**


	29. Worthy of Love

**A/N Mac beta'd this because she's awesome. Outtake news at the end note.**

Facebook status: I laid my heavy head on earth's shoulder and said, "Let me hold on to you, man. Just until the spinning stops."

In a fugue state, I staggered away from the door as it slammed shut, and the world tilted on its axis, turning too fast. Gravity failed me; I spun on my heels, driven by a mysterious centrifugal force. I felt like I'd been high on my own body chemistry, but as the adrenaline drained from my body, I came down too quickly, crashing into Edward's waiting arms.

"You did well, pretty girl. So good . . . I'm so proud of you . . ."

He whispered sweet-sounding words into my ear, but I had no fucking clue what he said as he cradled me. And I clung to him - my rock. My beautiful, sex-crazed rock.

I cried loudly for ten minutes solid, turning his cotton shirt into a snot rag. When I stopped hiccuping, he led me away from the house, and we walked aimlessly around my old neighbourhood, me stumbling along like a drunk monkey attached to his arm.

The streets were paved with ghosts, my memories now coloured with a different perspective. Even the fire hydrants looked devious, red and steaming in the heat.

"Well," Edward said after enough time had passed, and his Irish skin began to turn crimson under the harsh, desert sun, "you certainly gave your mother a lot to think about."

Did I? See, I didn't think so. Renee probably felt like the victim in our little travesty of a Greek tragedy more than ever.

"Nah. I'm sure she's come up with an explanation by now about how I know what Phil's dick looks like."

He cringed, squeezing my arm a little too hard.

"Are you tired?" he asked, his jaw tense.

"Fucking exhausted." I wanted to collapse in a heap on the sidewalk but thought better of it.

"Want to spend the night . . . get a motel or something?" He placed his hand on my cheek, and I cuddled against him, wrapping my tired arms around his body as if I could draw strength from the connection.

And fuck me, I really did want to spend another night with him. I wanted his tongue in my mouth, his cock buried deep inside of me. No part of me left untouched or unloved by his diligent hands.

"Oh . . . I do." Standing on my toes, I pressed an open mouthed kiss on his lips and just melted for a while, losing myself in his taste, his tongue, the soft little grumbles of pleasure we both made whenever we touched.

Edward pulled something out of his pants which, to my dismay, wasn't his dick.

"Directory assistance," he said huskily into his cell, still kissing me between words.

Except I totally couldn't spend another night away. Charlie needed me. I didn't trust him to be alone with his anger for any length of time without me.

"Wait." I held his chin, pulling away from his mouth so I could speak. "I can't... I mean, I really want to, but Charlie . . ."

"It's fine, Bella." His words belied the disappointment that momentarily clouded his eyes. He pocketed his iPhone and smiled.

"Really?"

"Sure. We'll fly standby - try to get out tonight."

"Oh my god, can I just tell you how awesome you are?" I gushed tiredly. "This day should be hell on earth, but you keep me from completely losing my shit." I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms and legs around his sex-god body.

He smiled against the crook of my neck, planting tiny kisses that tickled the skin there.

"Dude," I gasped between giggles. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you so fucking much, too . . . dude."

-({})-

The flight home was almost pleasant, largely due to the fact I took enough tranquilizers to incapacitate an elephant, but also because of Edward. He tried to keep the mood light, laughing at me when I inevitably set off the metal detector at security. He tweeted me while we waited for our plane to arrive at the gate. He bought me an overpriced coffee at Starbucks and kissed the foam off my nose.

"What did I do to deserve you?" I asked softly as the plane began its descent. We disappeared in the dense clouds, the mist billowing around the window like smoke.

"I'm not used to that question being used positively." He chuckled. "The last time I heard it, a girl was throwing a shoe at me."

"Do women often throw shoes at you?" Was it a trend or something?

"Is that a rhetorical question, or are you looking for a number?"

"Answer the question." I pouted, biting my lower lip in what I hoped was a sexy, non-spastic manner.

"No, women don't often throw shoes at me," he said solemnly. "Sometimes they throw panties."

"Oh my god! Why are you such a slut?" I punched his arm a little harder than playfully.

"Uhhh, do you want me to answer that?"

I didn't. "I hate rhetorical questions. Why are there rhetorical questions?"

"Um... is _that_ rhetorical?"

"Did Lauren throw her shoes at you or just her cunt?" My voice darkened.

"Stop it. Let's not talk about that stuff right now."

"But you never want to talk about you. It's always an inconvenient time because I'm having a random breakdown or Charlie's going all Chuck Norris and shit."

"Fine," he sighed heavily. "What do you want to know?"

"Why am I not the only girl who turned violent on you? What did you do to piss off the other shoe-throwers?"

"Mostly just fucked and ducked." He smiled tightly, averting his eyes.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" I turned towards him and wrapped my hands around his neck.

"I'm not proud of it."

"How many girls at Forks?"

"Two," he said quickly.

"Bullshit!" I sneezed the word and rubbed my fist into his scalp. Shit, I could noogie him for days, and his hair still looked perfect.

"Stop!" He laughed, ducking away from me. I undid my seatbelt - even though the illuminated sign over our seats clearly indicated I wasn't supposed to - and hopped into his lap.

"How many?" I pressed.

"Only two in Forks, Scouts honour." He made a V with his fingers.

"Uh, I don't think you were ever a Scout."

He cocked his brow. "Oh, yeah? What makes you so certain?"

"Well, for one thing, you don't know anything about the outdoors . . . and also? You just made the Vulcan symbol for _live long and prosper_."

"Caught me." He brought his mouth about an inch away from mine and teased me, licking his lower lip. "But for real, Bella, only two in Forks. I was, er, more prolific when Alice and I were away at boarding school in Seattle."

"Really?" I shoved at his head, doing my damnedest to gain access to his mouth, which he kept just out of reach. "How many?"

He shrugged. "No idea." He kissed the corner of my lips and whipped his head away quickly when I tried to jam my tongue down his throat. "I didn't give a shit about any of them."

"So, if you got so much tail in Seattle, why did you come back to stupid Forks?"

"Uh, I was sorta kicked out for consorting with the headmaster's daughter."

Of course, I snickered at the word _headmaster_. I opened my mouth to ask if the title had any bearing on her skill when Edward crushed his mouth against mine, groaning as I slid my tongue past his lips. He licked it and cupped the back of my head in a way that made me feel precious and desired. His mouth, all soft and sweet, moved with my own, tender and gentle.

I couldn't get enough.

I whined softly with want, deepening the kiss until we were both panting and clawing at each other.

"Ahem," a flight attendant said, glaring at us as we broke apart. "Please put your seatbelt back on in preparation for landing."

"Shit, sorry," I muttered, my face flushing hotly.

She nodded and moved down the aisle.

"Bella," Edward said softly as I secured my seatbelt, bringing my chair back to its upright position.

"Yeah."

"I love you, baby. I don't know how much of a consolation that is considering what you're going through, but I want you to know . . ." He paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I'm pretty sure you're _it_ for me."

Warmth flooded my chest as he gazed at me with half-lidded eyes.

"Like . . . really?" I asked ineloquently.

"Really."

"Oh my god, you're such an asshole." My eyes filled with tears before I could stop myself.

"What? Why?"

"I fucking hate crying in public. Gah, I'm such a girl right now." I cupped his junk over his jeans. "You're so getting a blowjob by the way," I added casually.

-({})-

The house was dark when I arrived home. Edward insisted on waiting until I locked the door behind me before he pulled out of the driveway, his headlights briefly illuminating the foyer before he disappeared.

God, I felt alone now. I'd become so accustomed to having him by my side over the last two days.

I dropped my purse in the front hall closet and turned on the light.

"Bella?" Charlie said hoarsely.

"Shit!" I jumped about a foot in the air. "Sorry, Dad. I wasn't expecting you to be . . . uh, sitting in the dark."

"I fell asleep on the couch waiting for you." He almost sounded apologetic as he sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Did Edward find the chainsaw all right?"

"No, Dad. I don't think Phil was home."

"We need to talk-" he practically growled, his voice positively apoplectic and his face twisting into an ugly expression.

"I know."

"I've already pulled some strings with the DA and the Phoenix PD are on standby, but I need you to press charges since you're an adult-"

"Dad, stop!"

"I also contacted a lawyer. A good one-"

"Stop!" I yelled. "Just stop it!"

Charlie barely spoke this much at one time. He probably didn't appreciate being interrupted, but I was unapologetic.

His dark eyes flashed angrily. "He's gonna pay, Bells."

"I know," I said softly, exhausted. "I know he will, but right now, more than anything, you know what I need? Not a fucking vigilante. I need a parent." I burst into tears, my lungs drawing in painful, shallow breaths.

"Aw, Bells. C'mere." He opened his arms, looking uncomfortable - probably because the last time he hugged me I kicked him in the groin.

"No."

"Yes," he insisted, slowly standing up. "I'm your father, and I love you, baby. No matter what."

"Daddy," I whispered like a child.

He held me, and we cried together.

"This shouldn't have happened to you," he sobbed into my shoulder. "I . . . I just don't understand how I could have let this happen to my baby girl."

"It's not your fault." I tried to soothe him but I wasn't equipped with the right words to silence either of our tears.

I didn't realize it at the time, but my father was in mourning for my lost childhood.

Not me, though. I only mourned my mother. I mourned her not just because she disowned me, but because I knew I'd never forgive her for it.

**Author's Note: I'm only a few chapters away from the end! So I'll be writing an Edward POV that will include when Bella first kisses him in Kindergarten. Donate to FSAA for a compilation of unpublished outtakes by some awesome writers.**

**I'm also writing a very strange Tomato outtake in conjunction with Meranaamjoker's awesome Paul/Bella fic ****Miror Quaenam Sis Tam Bella****. It will make very little sense but that's never been a problem for me!**

**Reviews make my phone and I really happy!**


	30. Stigmata Tomato!

**Author's Note: Thank you to mac and jess for beta'ing this chapter. You guys mean the world to me. Big love to lizconno for helping me with the American justice system which I know very little about. Please to not bill me for your legal advice! **

Facebook Status: Stigmata Tomato  
Isabella Swan published a new note:

You tell me I'm like an angel:  
Sweet and soft, yielding and exultant.  
You misunderstood. Angels are denizens of Heaven.  
But I'm in Hell; a perversion of Christ, made to suffer  
For your sins. Bleeding, still bleeding.  
Orphaned by faith, dying and reborn.  
These wounds inflicted by you  
Open and cry. Three days grace  
And I'm reborn.

You tell me I'm sweet like an apple:  
Soft in your mouth, the juice on your chin.  
But I'm misunderstood. I've no wisdom to share.  
And I've been squeezed too hard,  
Bleeding, still bleeding from  
These wounds inflicted by you.  
I ripen on the ground, cut loose from the vine  
And I'm spoiled.

Crucified on your cock,  
Rotten and putrid.  
Stigmata Tomato.

I felt like vomiting. I stumbled down the stairs as if drunk, my gut churning with radioactive sludge. My stomach lining probably resembled Swiss cheese. I needed a motherfucking Tums stat.

"Charlie," I muttered, dragging my feet over the cracked linoleum floor like a zombie with really crap reflexes and little motivation. "Do we have antacids?" I groaned, collapsing into the kitchen chair across from him.

Christ, he looked beaten down. His face resembled an elephant's cunt, all grey leather and wrinkles. Not that I knew what elephant pussy looked like . . . wow, my head was in a really strange place.

"How'd you sleep?" he muttered, ignoring my question and staring at a piece of dry toast as if he had no fucking clue what to do with it. Thank fuck he didn't have a sausage in his hand because that would've been all kinds of messed up considering my previous simile.

"Like shit." I'd been up half the night writing emo poetry about stabbing tomatoes. Now all I could see was red. "I think I'm pissed off."

"It's about fucking time."

"Yeah, well . . . better late than never. I'm ready to go all Uma Thurman now and kill Phil." I grabbed the toast from him. "Are you going to eat this or just gawk at it like an asshole?"

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snapped, burying his face in his hands. "I spoke to the lawyer last night."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"_She _said we need to swear out a complaint in Maricopa County . . . that since there's no, er, physical evidence, rape will be hard to prove."

"Oh." My stomach dropped to my feet. What had I expected? Certainly not that Charlie would snap his fingers and Phil would be rightfully rotting in jail as Bubba's bitch. Whomever Bubba was . . . the resident ass raper or whatever. "Okay."

"That means you have to go back. Can you handle that?"

"Yeah, I mean, fuck. I wish I knew this yesterday." Tears left my ducts totally unbidden by me. "Is it okay if I have a nervous breakdown for a couple of days first?"

"Yeah. I'll see if your doctor can get involved. Maybe he can write a note or something-"

"I'm not crazy, Dad. Dr. Banner won't write a letter claiming I'm too nuts to fill out a complaint. Frankly, I'm insulted."

"That's my girl," he grunted, covering my hand with his and squeezing gently.

"Yep, I'm a motherfucking warrior." I smiled.

"I'll go with you."

"Thanks. Dad?" I really needed to tell him something.

"Yeah?"

"I, uh . . . really love you and shit."

-({})-

"So, I'm really pissed off." I hadn't even sat down yet. I glared at Dr. Banner's perennially amused face, trying to figure out what he saw as he looked back. The girl reflected in his glasses appeared really pathetic.

"At whom are you pissed?" he asked, standing like a gentleman, as if waiting for me to take a seat.

"You're speaking strangely."

"I know, right?" He laughed excitedly, pouring a can of Red Bull into his Starbucks mug. "I have a bet going with my daughter to see who can go the longest without ending a sentence in a preposition."

"Right. Well, okay . . ." What the fuck did I say to that? "So, um, a bunch of stuff happened..."

"Would you like to talk about it? Wait, is 'it' a preposition?"

"No, you're fine. I'll write you list of common ones if it helps. And yes, I'd like to talk about it."

"Oh, good! Make yourself comfortable, Bella. Would you like an energy drink?" He tossed a giant stuffed bear at me and sat down in his ugly pleather chair.

"No, thanks. Also? I totally am reporting Phil for sexually abusing me." I smiled proudly.

"You shouldn't do that," Dr. Banner said flatly.

"What? You don't think Phil should go to jail?"

"Of course! He's a filthy child molester. I mean you shouldn't split infinitives." He grimaced.

"Are you using bad comedy to deflect?" I asked, taking on an Austrian accent.

"Are you?" he countered.

"Yes. Always . . ." Where the fuck was I? "I'm trying to have a breakthrough, Dr. Banner, and you're making it difficult."

"I apologize. Carry on with your epiphany."

"My mother found out about Phil. She disowned me . . . blamed it on me." I kept my voice even.

"Do you think it's your fault?" he asked carefully, the jovial tone leaving his voice.

"No. I mean . . . I don't think so."

"Bella, if you'd allow me to go off the record as your therapist for a moment, there's something I must say."

"Shoot."

"Your mother is a cunt."

If there'd been water in my mouth, it would have shot through my nose as I let out an almost violently painful snort of mirth.

"Is that your professional opinion?" I giggled, wiping tears of laughter out of my eyes.

"No. My professional opinion is that you need to cut off contact with your mother for the time being. I also think it would be healthy to for you to work on forgiving her for failing you. As a parent, though, my opinion is she's a cunt."

"So, you're kind of awesome." I cuddled the teddy bear against my cheek.

"Could I get that in writing?"

"Of course." I chewed my lip thoughtfully. "This is good, right?"

"Yes, Bella. It's very good. In fact-" he tossed a bottle at me, "here's your Scooby Snack. Effexor. Take it once daily."

"I am!"

"Why must you turn my office into a house of lies?" he deadpanned.

"Stop quoting 'The Simpsons'!" I glared at the red horse pills, shaking the bottle. "Fine. I'll try them again, but they make me dizzy."

"That's because you're not taking them regularly. Be good to your serotonin, and it will be good to you."

"Okay," I acquiesced. "I'll take them on the regular . . . can we talk about something else?"

"We can," he said pleasantly, leaning forward his chair.

"I want to talk about Edward Cullen."

"What for?" He frowned.

"You just ended that sentence in a preposition."

"Shit."

"I'm in love with him. Is that bad?" I closed my eyes, afraid of the answer.

"Loving another person is never bad."

"Yeah . . . but I'm fucking him and stuff."

"Bella." He sighed. "You know I can't discuss Edward's therapy with you."

"I know," I said quickly. "I just . . . I don't want to mess him up. Just give me your professional opinion, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "But only if you'll allow me to give you my non-professional opinion too."

"Fine."

"I don't think a sexual relationship is healthy for either of you right now."

"Oh," I said, feeling my stomach drop, a heaviness weighing my shoulders down and making my chest tight.

"My non-professional opinion, however, is Edward is a good guy, and he cares for you very much."

"He talks about me?" I threw the poor teddy bear on the floor, nearly falling out of my chair.

"I didn't say that. Did you hear me say that? You know I can't tell you what Edward divulges in our sessions. I'm not telling you he cares about you very much. I'm also not telling you how much it would crush him if you broke up with him."

"You're not telling me a lot of things. Is that ethical?"

"Meh, ethics shmethics. I love a good loophole." He pulled a juice box out of his desk and tossed it to me. "Take your crazy pill."

"Fine. But could you please give me some straightforward advice about Edward?"

"You know I can't. My job isn't to tell you what to do."

"Bullshit. You tell me what to do all the time." I poked a straw into the apple juice and swallowed the pill, coughing as it stuck in my throat for an instant.

"You need to do what's best for you."

"What's that?"

"I don't know, Bella. Only time will tell."

-({})-

"Let me in, Bella!" Edward yelled, pounding on the front door of the house.

"Please . . . I just want to be by myself," I replied, scarcely loud enough for him to hear.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Please don't make me beg."

"Edward, the door's unlocked. If you want to come in, just open it." I huffed out an annoyed breath.

"I need you to invite me in," he said plaintively.

"Why? Are you a vampire?" I grumbled, reluctantly getting my ass off of Charlie's favourite plaid couch. I opened the door, and my knees buckled upon the sight of Edward, all rumpled hair and sparkling green eyes. "You have girly eyelashes. I'm going to have to demand you stop being prettier than me."

I turned my back to him and collapsed onto the couch, laying on my stomach.

"Bella," he whispered in his best sex voice, the cushions shifting beneath me as he draped his body carefully over mine. "No one is more beautiful than you. Ever."

"Stop it." My eyes burned with hot tears. I'd promised myself I wouldn't cry.

"Stop what, pretty girl?" he asked, his breath husky in my ear, his tongue licking my neck just below. "You taste so good, baby." His erection poked insistently into my backside. Slowly arching off the couch, I raised my ass so he could grind against it. "My girl . . . I want you. Can I have you?"

I rolled onto my back and stared silently at his face. Actually, I gawked at his slightly exposed happy trail first because I was a total slut, but then I contemplated his eyes. They were wild, hooded and dark with lust.

"I don't know if it's a good idea. I just came from seeing Dr. Banner and-"

"Please," he groaned, rubbing himself over his jeans. "Please, Bella . . . I need you so much. I can't think straight." He cupped my crotch in his hand and lowered his face to my stomach, his hot tongue licking my navel. I cried out, grinding into him. "Yeah, you want me too . . . I know you do. Please, pretty girl?"

"I need to talk to you," I gasped, fighting to keep my thoughts coherent as I felt my jeans suddenly drag down my hips. That fucker sure had stealth . . . like, sex stealth.

"Please, please let me fuck you," he begged. "I need you."

"Slow down . . . please. Look at me for a second, okay?"

He stared at me, half-crazed, pleading and desperate; he could barely keep his hips still.

And I knew this wasn't him. This was his disease begging to be satisfied.

Fuck, this was such a bad idea, but I wanted him to be happy.

_One last time._

"I love you, Edward," I said, smiling as well as I could. "Please fuck the shit out of me."

**Author's Note: the end. No! I'm totally kidding. The rest of this scene is written but I needed to cut here. If you review me, I'll update again this weekend. But I must receive at least 100 reviews first... No! I'm totally kidding again! Ha! But I will update this weekend.**

**Big love to all readers of Tomato. The encouragement you send me means the world to me. I'm sorry I'm not able to send flowers and kittens to all of you. Chat with me on twitter! I'm BellaFlan. All reviews receive my best intentions and buzz my phone into submission.**


	31. Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

**Author's Note: Big love to Mac and Jess for beta'ing. Thank you to Melg0510 for pimping Tomato on Fictionators, and to SheViking for pimping to her readers. This is a short-ish chapter. Facebook Status: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered**

"I need to be inside you." Edward's voice cracked. He sobbed against my shoulder, fumbling with the buttons of his fly.

"Okay," I whispered in his ear, threading my fingers through his hair. "Okay, calm down." I could feel his entire body trembling on top of mine, his neck arching at a violent angle as he threw his head back, another strangled sob pushing through his lips.

Was he trying to fuck me, or did he just have a seizure?

"Sorry, sorry, sorry . . . no time to be a gentleman about it." He settled himself between my legs, nudging me open with his gentle but insistent cock.

Okay, well . . . that answered that.

I gripped his ass, feeling the muscles flex beneath my hands as he pushed into me easily, swearing, likely in surprise at how quickly I accommodated him. I mean, it probably wasn't like throwing a sausage down a hallway or anything, but my pussy definitely felt looser than it had last time.

We lay there for a moment, unmoving, panting. I used my feet to shimmy his jeans further down his legs, needing to feel more of his skin against mine.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he finally groaned, pulling his hips back from mine slightly before bearing down again. "You have no idea . . ."

"I think I have _some _idea."

"I nearly took my dick in my hand during biology class." He brought his mouth to my neck, and I squealed as his tongue and teeth assaulted my flesh. "Couldn't stop thinking about your tight, little pussy . . . I nearly came in my pants."

"That's hot," I panted. "Totally the wrong day for me to skip school . . . oh, christ, pound into me already."

I kicked his ass with my heel, spurring him into a gallop, groaning pornographically as he set a merciless pace, our skin slapping together and punctuating every moan. Fuck, I loved him beyond all reason. So much so that it hurt to look at him.

So I closed my eyes, just feeling his hot, slick skin over mine and listening to the sounds of our lovemaking.

How could I live without this? I bit my lip to help keep my mind focused on being blank. Except the moment I tried not to think, my brain went apeshit, its hamster wheel squeaking obnoxiously.

What if this was our last time together? Shouldn't I catalogue every sound he made, every freckle on his body?

Wait, this didn't _have _to be the end. All I needed was a little time . . . for both of us. He could be reasonable, right?

Probably not. He needed to know how I felt while I still had his attention. "I love you, Edward. No one makes me feel the way you do."

He replied with an equally sentimental profession: "Motherfucker, I'm gonna come."

No fucking way! "Please," I gasped. "Just a little bit more? I'm close . . ."

"Yeah, baby. Come for me," he pleaded desperately. I opened my eyes and saw my own need reflected back in his brilliant green irises.

Cool air kissed my body as he rolled back on his knees, pulling me with him without breaking coitus.

"Watch, baby. Watch my cock slip inside you," he urged, guiding me over his lap so I could ride him. He licked his index and second finger, rubbing my clit with those expert hands.

He played me like a concerto, and it took all my will to refrain from humming 'Ode to Joy'.

My orgasm swept over me like a tidal wave, dragging me down in its undertow quickly and mercilessly. I'd been so busy obsessing over Edward, I hadn't noticed my own pleasure mounting and surging.

"Fuck me, Edward, I'm coming."

"Yeah, I can fucking feel it, baby."

His face took on an almost pained expression: his eyes squinting, his nostrils flaring, and his jaw clenching.

"Come!" I yelled, afraid he'd pop a blood vessel if he kept trying to stave it off.

He did something unexpected, then, pulling his cock out of me and pumping it in his fist. I watched with aroused curiosity . . . until he pushed me flat on my back and jizzed all over my tits.

Well . . . that was, um, sweet?

"Oh, shit. I should get a towel or something," he muttered, his face flushed with either excitement or embarrassment.

"Nah, it's cool. I've always wanted a pearl necklace."

We giggled and snuggled on the couch. Yeah, I was stalling. Fucking sue me. This would not go well, I felt certain of it.

"Edward," I said finally - well, more like gasped emphysemically because that orgasm totally robbed me of my ability to breathe, "I think we need to talk."

He sat up quickly, capturing my hands in his and kissing them. "No," he practically cursed, "we don't."

"Yeah, we do. Look, I know you're not gonna be happy about what I have to say, but I need you to listen to me, okay? Like, really listen and don't interrupt."

"Bella . . ." he shook his head, pulling me into his arms. "Don't do this, baby. Just . . . whatever you think you need to do . . . don't."

"I love you, Edward," I said quickly, firmly, keeping my voice even. "I love you more than I think you know. I'm never going to stop loving you . . . but I need to be not with you while I go through this shit."

"No, Bella . . . I won't let you break up with me." His eyes flashed at me, his jaw flexing spasmodically, seemingly holding all the tension in his body. Pain seared through my upper arms as he dug his fingers into my flesh.

"I'm not breaking up with you . . . exactly. I need some time, that's all-" The words choked off in my throat as he tightened his hold on me, blossoms of bruises blooming under the hideous pressure of his hands.

Phil always said I bruised easily.

"You need me!" he yelled. "You fucking need me." He made a sound like a hiccup, and to my horror, messy tears slid down his face, streaks of white over the flushed pink canvas of his skin. His fingers dug impossibly harder into my armfat.

"I do. I need you so much. But I can't be with you like this. We need to be better for each other. Don't you see we're just making everything worse by being together?" I wiggled, trying to unlock the iron cuffs of his hands. "You're fucking hurting me," I finally whined, unable to escape.

"Don't do this," he repeated like a man under the thrall of a sick love spell. Oh my fuck, it was totally like that episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Xander cast a spell to make the student body fall in love with him. He seemed positively possessed. "I can't-"

"You're okay. You'll be fine . . . great, even, without me. And it's not forever. I mean, if you still want me after-"

"Shut the fuck up," he spat, jumping to his feet and yanking his pants and underwear over his hips in a swift jerk of his hands. "Don't say it."

"Say what?"

"Don't fucking sit there all calm and shit, telling me what I need. Don't you dare fucking tell me me I don't have to wait for you."

"You don't. I wouldn't expect you to. I always knew you were out of my league. Shit, dude, from the moment we met I've been waiting for you to figure out you're too good for me."

"Fucking, don't!" he growled, balling his hands into fists. For a terrifying moment, I wondered if he was going to strike me.

"I don't know what you _don't _want me to do or say!" I whimpered, jumping to my feet so I could look him in the eye while I spoke.

"Bella . . ." he howled, crying in earnest. "You're breaking my heart."

I . . . didn't know what the fuck to say to that. Could I take it back? Was it too late?

"I just want to be better for you, Edward. Please stop crying? I can't fucking take it." I put a tentative hand on his shoulder, and he lurched forward, his face contorted in rage and anguish, his fists balled even tighter.

Everything slowed down, and my instincts misguided me.

In a terrible, interminable moment, time ceased to exist. I'd hurt the only boy I'd ever loved, and he wanted to hurt me back. I cowered, covering my face with my arms to protect it, dropping to my knees and balling up like a hedgehog.

A large, white hand flashed in my periphery, and I flinched and tensed, waiting for the searing pain and crunch of bone that would no doubt follow.

Except Edward would never hurt me. Even in my delirium, I knew that.

"Get up," he seethed. "I feel like enough of a shit. I'd never hurt you, so stop acting like a fucking victim. Because I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being made out to be a shit because your daddy forced you to suck his dick."

"Okay," I whispered from my place on the floor. "That was a mistake. I didn't mean . . ." My throat tightened painfully. I could no longer speak or move. All I could do was let out a keening yowl, a pathetic version of a primal scream.

"Stop screaming. You are not allowed to scream." He kicked the coffee table, and it exploded into shrapnel, splintering along with my heart. Except I broke _his_ heart. So why did mine ache so fucking much too?

"I'm so fucking sorry," I sobbed. "I love you so much it hurts."

He laughed, a bitter and ugly sound. "I hope it fucking hurts. I hope you feel just a fraction of what I do right now because it's fucking over. It's fucking over, and you did it." He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. "You did it."

"Okay," I repeated dumbly. "I did it. I'm so sorry."

I obliterated Edward's faith in me, but I couldn't bring myself to regret this decision. Even if he never forgave me.

I totally just destroyed the only boy I ever loved. Also, I knew without a shadow of doubt I'd never love another with the same voracity.

That totally wasn't hyperbole.

_Fuck this. I'm getting drunk._

**A/N - sorry, sorry, sorry! Ummm, please trust me?**


	32. Time and Punishment

**Author's Note: I kind of want to make out with my betas, mac and Jess.**

Facebook Status: Going offline for a little while.

Charlie didn't give a fuck that I was hungover. He made me drag my sick, sorry ass to school because I'd missed enough of my classes already due to my pilgrimage to confront Renee in Phoenix. Plus, Charlie and I totally had to go back there on Friday to swear out a complaint against Phil. In a way, I welcomed my depression over Edward; it took my mind off the Herculean task of reliving my nightmares on paper, confessing my sins to the good cops of Maricopa County.

I mean, could four years of hell be summarized and itemized neatly on a spreadsheet? It felt like my rape would be undergoing an audit or some shit. I guess there really were bureaucrats for everything.

Back on the other side of sanity, I almost found the minutia of Forks High comforting, even though true hell lurked somewhere inside the innocuous building.

You know, the banality of evil and all that.

Of course, English class was a nightmare with Alice and her plastic-titted bimbos at her flanks making sure to remind me about what a loser I was.

"You're a loser," she hissed predictably.

"Yes," I agreed. "True-fucking-fax."

"Oh my god, she just admitted she's a loser." Tanya giggled.

"Yep . . . looks like you'll need some new material to torture me with."

_Ask and ye shall receive..._

"Would you like to come over tonight, Lauren? Edward mentioned I should ask you to dinner. My mother's making mushroom ravioli."

My stomach dropped to my feet. I guess I should have expected he'd move on. That was pretty fucking fast though.

"Bella?" the teacher called before I could become properly emo.

"Present," I replied distractedly.

"Yes, thank you for confirming that for a second time this morning. Have you prepared your reading?"

_My fucking what?_ "Uh . . ."

"Your presentation?" she prompted. "The reading assignment . . . and not _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,_ thank you very much."

"Oh. Yeah. How about Shakespeare?" It was cheap of me to do it, but I had a litany of soliloquies and sonnets memorized already. "I'd like to present a reading from _Othello_."

"The Moor of Athens." She smiled.

_Venice, you turd!_

"Any day now, Bella." She tapped her fingers on her desk, her nails echoing like bullets.

On shaking legs I stood and walked to the front of the room. "Um . . . so, this is act four, scene three from _Othello_. Emilia's speech." I licked my chapped lips and took a deep breath, trying to chase the warble from my voice.

"Let husbands know their wives have sense like them: they see and smell and have their palates both for sweet and sour, as husbands have. What is it that they do when they change us for others? Is it sport? I think it is: and doth affection breed it? I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs? It is so too: and have not we affections, desires for sport, and frailty, as men have? Then let them use us well: else let them know, the ills we do, their ills instruct us so."

I stopped speaking, my chest heaving with rage. "In case you're wondering what all of them purty words mean," I spat, glaring directly at Lauren, "the speech is about how men suck. They're weak fucktards who expect us to be all sweet and doting. But you know what? Women suck too. Women suck because men are fucktards. It's a vicious circle, really."

"Bella!" the teacher snapped. It occurred to me I still had no idea what her name was.

"Yes?"

"Don't use that language in my classroom."

"Shakespearean?"

-({})-

This just pure sucked. I managed to make it through my morning classes without seeing Edward, but I didn't know how long my luck would hold out. My stomach felt like a mess of acid, my nerves frayed to feathers as I traversed the muddy lawn that led to the cafeteria. I stood outside the doors, sighing deeply because there was no way in fuck I could go in.

"Hey," a soft voice spoke behind me. I turned around and was met with Rosalie's raccoon eyes.

"'Sup."

"Where the fuck have you been?"

I sighed heavily, feeling brash and overly pragmatic. "I went to Phoenix to confront my mother and the man who raped me habitually for four years . . . her husband." I watched her face, waiting for my unceremonious confession to coax some sort of reaction out of her, but her eyes betrayed no emotion . . . not even surprise.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," she said calmly, taking my hand. "Do you want to talk?"

"You wouldn't understand," I replied coldly, trying to pull my away.

"Yes." She squeezed my fingers. "Yes, I would."

I'd been so blinded by my own pain I neglected to open my eyes to what was right in front of me.

"I do . . . I really, _really _do want to talk, Rose. I just can't have this conversation today though." I pulled her into my arms, hugging her awkwardly.

"It's okay. We can talk when you're ready . . . or not." She pulled away from me and chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You're not alone, though. We're members of one of the biggest clubs in the world, a club no one wants to admit to having joined."

"I never even paid my membership dues."

"Yeah, you have," she said sadly.

-({})-

I took my lunch behind the school since it wasn't raining, and I felt all pathetic and shit. I just couldn't fathom sitting in a crowded lunchroom. It was ridiculous, but I couldn't face Edward. In a town like Forks and a school of only three-hundred students, trying to avoid him was pretty futile . . . especially since I stumbled upon him in the very place I went to evade him.

He sat on the grass, leaning against an oak tree in a Johnny Depp sort of way. Not _Pirates of the Caribbean _Depp, just kind of like late-eighties Depp: brooding and sexy. Actually, he didn't look at all like Johnny.

He looked like Edward, and I wanted to die.

"Bella?" he said in a surprised voice.

"Shit," I muttered and promptly burst into tears.

Edward gawked at me through exhausted, bruised-looking eyes and said, "No, baby. Stop." He stood up quickly, opening his jacket and pulling me inside before wrapping it, and his arms, around me. "Don't cry."

But I couldn't stop the hysterics from pouring out of me, my emotions fizzing and exploding like soda from a shaken bottle. I'd held in too much, kept my emotions buried, almost psychotically repressed, and a tiny crack in my foundation had created a fissure.

I broke completely . . . or exploded or whatever.

"N-noooo!" I wailed, my chest feeling heavy.

"I got you. Go ahead and cry," he whispered into my hair.

But why did he _have_ me? He hated me . . . and rightfully so!

For reasons I didn't understand, he held me tightly to him while I soaked his shirt with my snot. Why didn't he push me away in disgust? I didn't ask him. Asking him would waste time, and I had such little time to indulge in this moment. Time could go fuck itself.

I melted into him and imagined time crying like Dali's clocks; persistent memories couldn't touch me in the warmth of this embrace. Bells rang indicating other places we needed to get to, but still I keened, luxuriating in the release, the ceaseless comfort of being loved so well.

When my tears dried up, I continued making sobbing noises, afraid he'd stop cuddling me.

"You're my brave girl," he whispered tenderly and kissed the top of my head.

"I'm a chicken shit."

"Are you crying because of what I said to you yesterday?" He made a choking noise in his throat.

"Guh?" I asked eloquently.

Reluctantly lifting my head from the oasis of his chest, I pulled away so I could see his expression; he loosened his arms but refused to break from the embrace completely.

"I'm so fucking sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea." He bowed his head and pressed his forehead against my shoulder, his hair tickling my neck.

"I broke your heart," I reminded him dumbly, "and now you're with Lauren."

"I'm not with Lauren. Why would you even think that?"

"I dunno," I snuffled. "You invited her over for dinner. You never invited me to dinner."

"Alice babbled about inviting her over to dinner tonight. She's her friend; I told her to do what she wanted. I had plans tonight anyway."

"What kind of plans?" I asked shakily.

"Uh, yeah . . . I was going to hide in the tree outside your house and try to catch a glimpse of you . . . just to make sure you're okay. Not in a creepy, stalker kinda way." He cupped my cheek in his palm, and I nuzzled his hand without thinking. "I love this face so much."

"I love you so much-" My throat tightened. "You have to know that."

"Why won't you be with me?" he asked softly.

"Because I love you, because I know we're going to ruin any chance we have to be together by indulging each other's addictions. I don't want you to resent me."

"If you're doing this for me, then stop it." His eyes turned dark, his jaw clenching as if in determination.

"I'm doing it for me too. I don't know how to make things better. I'll never learn how to deal with what happened to me if I don't at least try to do it on my own."

"You need me," he insisted, rubbing my cheek tenderly.

"So fucking much," I agreed. "I do. But I need me to be able to take care of myself. I need to learn how to cope with all my fucked up shit without being self-destructive. Because my behaviour isn't just hurting me. I'm fucking you up too. I'm fucking up my dad and Jake and anyone who's ever showed me kindness because I don't know what the fuck to do with it." I pulled back, wiping my messy nose across my sleeve. "I love you, Edward, but I'm not willing to destroy you."

He nodded tersely. "What about what I want?" His voice cracked, and he rubbed his jaw as if I'd punched him.

"What do you want?" I ventured.

"You."

"I'm yours," I said quickly. "All I need is some time."

"Okay," he said softly. "I've got time to give."

**A/N Reviews are better than spanking a monkey. Speaking of which, I'm co-hosting a wank contest called Spank the Monkey! You know you want to write for this. Do it!**


	33. Sleeping Dogs

**A/N Mac makes this story better. **

Facebook Status: I've never met Emmett Cullen, but I know he's a douchenozzle. JS JS JS!

This was all kinds of awkward, hanging out with Rose. I couldn't get a good read on her, and I wasn't sure if we had anything in common other than our respective tragedies.

She did have pot though, which made the afternoon infinitely more pleasant than actually attending our last period classes.

My eyes watered and burned as I took a shallow pull off my crudely rolled joint. Rosalie watched me smoke with slow-blinking eyes, stretching languidly on her bedroom floor like a cat. Really, her movements were so feline I considered petting her.

"You're a pussy," I told her, laying beside her. "I'm gonna rub your belly, okay? Don't be freaked out."

"What?" Her eyes closed, and I patted her stomach awkwardly. Actually, I really wanted to stroke her hair, the dark tendrils that sparkled a strange muddy golden in the sunlight, revealing the secret that only her hairdresser should know.

_I wonder what colour her pubes are? I bet she dyes them emo too. Can't have sunny pubes. Not that morose pussy._

Wait did I say that aloud?

"Rose," I murmured, still imagining her bush. Since I didn't want to fuck her, I had a minor epiphany. "I'm not even a little bit bi."

She rolled over and blinked a few times. "That's so interesting . . . I think given the right circumstances, I could be."

"Not me. I've got no interest in licking your clam." Only in inspecting your pubic hair.

"You should see what I used to look like. I bet if I was still blonde and perfect you'd totally dive my muff." She giggled, reaching behind her and grabbing a yearbook off the shelf. "Here," she proclaimed, opening it; the spine had split in the centre, dimpling along a well-worn fault line in the binding.

"What's that?"

"Homecoming. My homecoming." She pointed to a Barbie doll wearing a crown and a hideously pink dress. "That was me."

"Was?"

"Yes. Past tense."

"Dude, that's _still _you . . . only in stupid clothes."

She frowned. Obviously she had expected me to swoon or some shit. "You don't understand," she growled. "That was the life I used to have before I was changed . . ."

"What do you mean? How much weed did you smoke exactly?" I grabbed her face and yanked it closer to mine so I could examine her pupils. I forgot what I was examining them for, though. I mean, they were little black balls. That was normal, yes?

"I didn't smoke anything, bitch. You're bogarting my stash."

"Does our conversation sound like poorly written dialogue from an after school special?" I asked, watching the paper burn out into ash.

Was that where the term "burn out" came from? My fucked-up life fizzled into soot, the spark of potential - youth - wasted.

_I'm a wasted burn out._

Wait, what did Rosalie just say?

"Who changed you . . . and from what into what?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said quickly, opening the small ziplock bag of weed I'd been coveting since I arrived. "You want another one?"

"Yes, and clearly you're lying. You're dying to talk about it." I patted her unnaturally dark hair. "C'mon, kitty cat, tell me your story."

Curiously, she leaned into my hand rather than pushing me away as I'd expected she would. "I was raped by Royce King last year." She coughed out a lungful of smoke and lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry . . . he has a really stupid name."

"Yeah, well . . . it sucked." Her eyes glistened, but the dam that held back her tears didn't break.

"Um, do you want to talk about what happened?" I really hoped she didn't. Yeah, I know that was selfish of me, but I had enough of my own baggage when it came to that shit. I couldn't handle carrying hers too.

"Not really. I mean, I was drunk, so I don't remember much. Only that it hurt, and I begged him to stop. That's all."

"I'm sorry," I said again because I really was.

"Quit being sorry!" she snapped. "The thing is - and this is going to sound really fucked up - no one knows. The next day Royce is going around the school bragging that he fucked the homecoming queen, and all I can do is nod like an idiot in agreement. He did fuck me." She laughed bitterly. "Fucked me over good and hard."

"Why?" I demanded. "Why would you let him get away with that lie?"

"Because," she shrugged, "it's better to be a slut than a rape victim."

_She sounds like me! Oh my fuck, she's me!_

"No. Not any fucking more. You're a survivor, not a victim. So buck the fuck up, buttercup. This Gothic chic shtick is getting old." I dragged her off the floor in what was supposed to be grand, sweeping gesture, but I got dizzy and fell on top of her.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her voice raising a shrill octave.

"Going lesbian and then making a difficult decision about going back."

"Get off me!"

"Calm the fuck down, prom queen. I'm kidding. I do that." I smiled to emphasize my hilarity. "I'm trying to get you on back on your feet - literally and figuratively because I'm clever like that. You need to dye your hair back."

"Why?"

"Because we're no longer victims. The assholes will _not_ win."

-({})-

So I was a melodramatic whore, or whatever, but dude - I couldn't let sleeping dogs lie with this. After picking up hair dye and setting Rosalie's hair under the dryer, I called Edward.

"Bella!" he said enthusiastically after only one ring.

"Hi," I replied. "I miss you. Can I have your brother's phone number?"

Hm. Maybe I should have prefaced the request with an explanation. But I couldn't tell him why I needed to speak with Emmett.

"Um . . . sure?" He made a little manly grunt that made me want to cuddle him. "Uh . . . may I ask why?"

"I can't tell you," I apologized, twisting my bedsheets around my feet. "I miss you," I added lamely again, closing my eyes and imagining his face.

"Miss you more," he replied miserably. I doubted it. "Can I see you?"

Yes! Please, yes! "I have to go with my dad to Phoenix this weekend," I said evenly, managing to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"I'll come with you."

"I told you, Charlie's going . . . I'm going to be fine." Part of me even believed it.

"Okay."

Shit, I hurt his feelings.

"I wish it was you going with me, Edward. I really hope you know how hard this is on me too . . . us being apart."

He sighed, a sad, resigned sound. "I'll be waiting for you, pretty girl."

"Me too," I replied lamely.

-({})-

"What did you do?" Dr. Banner chastised me like a naughty puppy.

"Um . . . what do you mean?"

He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for me to speak.

"Is this about Edward?" I dug my teeth into the abused flesh of my lower lip.

"I don't know - is it?" replied Dr. Cryptic.

I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and loaded my Tweetdeck, evading. Edward's timeline appeared innocuous, linking a piano auction site and an old YouTube video of Mitch Hedberg explaining his apartment was infested by koala bears.

"You really should deal with your Internet addiction. I despise smart phones - they're expensive avoidance mechanisms."

"Blasphemy," I muttered, keeping my eyes glued to the screen.

_Splathisdead: In therapy dealing with the elephant in the room #daddyissues_

_BruceBannerHULK: (at)splathisdead put your phone away and pay attention._

My neck snapped up as if spring loaded. Dr. Banner raised his eyebrows innocently.

_BruceBannerHULK: (at)splathisdead I iz in ur interwebz messing ur shit up_

"What the fuck are you doing?" I snapped

"Um, messing your shit up?"

"Well, stop it." I jammed my phone in my pocket, and it buzzed, the vibration jolting me out of my chair.

"DM," Dr. Banner explained, a cocky grin spreading over his stupid face.

"Don't ever tweet me again!" I yelled, looking for a blunt object to hurl at his head.

"Why not? You love social network communications." He opened his desk drawer and dropped his stapler and Spider Man paper weight inside. Clever bastard.

"Not like this. I mean, not what we talk about." I couldn't properly articulate my thoughts. Raw panic made my throat tight, and my lungs constricted painfully.

"You're ashamed to broadcast our conversation?"

"No," I said. "It's all about context. You know the deepest, darkest version of me. I don't want my online universe colliding with my shitty real life."

"You don't say anything real on Twitter," he mused.

"No, it's the opposite," I disagreed. "The things I say become too real once I put them out into the universe. I used to blog as a creative outlet, but then it became a cathartic experience. It morphed, though . . ." My nose and eyes burned from suppressing tears. I blinked and let them roll down my cheeks. "Now it's my only means of escape."

"What are you escaping?"

"Me," I whispered.

"I'll bite." He placed his phone on the desk and contemplated it. "How does one escape herself?"

"By pretending to be the narrator of my life rather the person living it." I shrugged.

"You're using an online persona to disassociate yourself from what happened to you." His eyes widened in surprise as if he'd discovered the crux of my problem. I could've told him this shit ages ago.

"SPlathisDead is better than I'll ever be. People love her. I want to be her," I said simply.

"Bella," Dr. Banner replied in a fatherly tone. "You are her."

I shook my head. "Not yet. I'm working on it, though."

-({})-

"Shit, Bella!" Charlie hollered from upstairs when I arrived home. "This doesn't make any sense. Piece of shit computer."

"Dad? Where are you?" I closed the door, dropping my bag in the hall closet.

"Mother fudging shit-licker!" His voice wafted down like a fart, and I followed the sounds of half-coherent cursing to my bedroom. "I borrowed your laptop," he offered by way of explanation, fingering the empty holster on his belt.

"Ah-huh." I rolled the desk chair away from my precious iMac. "What're you trying to do there, Dad?"

"Print these goddamn tickets!" He threw his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide and pleading. "What do I do?"

"Well, first of all, and this is the really important part, buy a printer." I patted him on the shoulder, the bone poking my palm with its sharp edge.

"Oh," he said, mashing his fist into his forehead. "I'm an idiot."

"It runs in the family." I laughed. "I can get the ticket printed at school. Is this a roundtrip to Phoenix?"

"Two," he qualified. "Let's get this over with. We'll go this weekend and meet with the lawyer I told you about."

"Alright, Dad. Get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded, getting up from my chair and lumbering out of my room like a sleep walker. I was pretty sure he didn't sleep very much anymore.

I closed the door and made a call before I could change my mind.

"Hi Emmett. You don't know me. My name's Bella, and I'm kinda in love with your brother. Anyhoo, I need to talk to you about Rose because you made a really dumb mistake. Also? You're an asshole. Call me."

That wasn't too weird, was it?

**A/N: Are you still reading Tomato? If you are, thank you! FFn's been such a douchenozzle I know it's been difficult to review and reply to reviews. If you want to contact me with any questions, I'm on gmail - . I'm slow to reply though because I'm disorganized.**

**Please check my profile for two things: Spanking the Monkey! I'm co-hosting a contest about wank. Read the submissions. They're, um, inspiring. We're accepting entries until July 7th**

**Also, Stigmata Tomato is nominated for two Gigglesnortawards. Thank you - I have no clue who did that! There's a link to the site on my profile. Vote for your fave funny fics. Some of my favourite people are nominated.**

**Fic Rec: Soul to Keep by TG81. Bella sells her soul to Andy Griffith (Matlock) to be beautiful. It's a fairy tale with a devil of a twist! Read it!**

**I spank my monkey to your reviews.**


	34. Chasing Normal

**A/N Mac beta'd this because she's awesome.**

Facebook Status: sometimes it's okay to go ass to mouth.

"I guess it runs in the family," Charlie said, a tremor cracking his voice. He handed the cab driver a messy wad of bills and helped me out of the car.

"Guh?" I squinted, sunlight refracting from the imposing glass building right into my retinas.

Shit fucking burned. I swallowed my nerves, the mess of bile that rose from my esophagus into my throat.

"The metal detectors. You know, in airport security?"

Right. I'd forgotten. Thank god airport security didn't search my underwear this time. I hated the snapping sound of a rubber glove. "Dad, you set them off because of the garden shears in your pocket," I reminded him. "I activated them because I'm like the Bermuda Triangle - some sort of freakish black hole for electromagnetic activity."

Charlie smiled tersely and offered me his hand. I shook my head. My feet were unsteady, but they were my own; I needed to learn how to stand on them. I shuffled beside him, taking several clumsy steps for each one of his strides. "And while we're on the topic, what the fuck is up with those rusty shears? You have a disturbing fixation on cutting off Phil's balls. Get that shit in check before we speak to the detective."

The blood drained from his face at the mention of Phil's name. I grabbed his hand and squeezed, not because I needed it - because he did.

"Besides," I added for my own brand of fucked-up levity. "I think the shears are too fucking nice. Child molesters should be human centipede'd to one another."

"Do I want to know what that means?" he asked, letting go of my hand to hold the door for me.

"Um, you know the saying about going ass to mouth? Imagine that enforced through mad science surgery."

"Nope. Don't wanna know."

"Probably not," I agreed.

I took his hand again and drew in a deep breath, steeling myself for the impending ordeal of documenting several years of abuse. "Relax, Bells," he said, and I sat down in the general waiting area, staring at the cracked vinyl seats. I didn't want to think about the other people waiting, like me - why they were here and what they'd gone through. I occupied my mind by attempting to decipher pictures in the stains on the chairs.

Charlie spoke quietly to one of the officers behind the desk, and I covered my ears, trying to drown out the noise in my head; the sound only amplified.

His tone changed suddenly to that of an angry growl, and he grabbed a bundle of paper off the desk and marched back to me.

"We'll have to wait a bit," Charlie apologized, handing me a clipboard and a pen. "Officer Dumbass over there said you need to fill this junk out before anyone will speak to us."

I cocked my head and squinted at Officer Dumas' nametag. "I think it's pronounced do-mah . . . you know, like Alexandre Dumas."

"Nope, it's Dumbass. I really wanted to get this over with."

"I don't mind waiting, Dad. Calm down, okay?" I motioned for him to sit beside me, but he stomped his heavy boots impatiently again the linoleum. I really fucking hated linoleum. "Hey, do you think they'll bring me a doll to demonstrate where the bad man touched me?" I quipped, clicking the pen.

"Not funny, Bella."

"Because I'd kinda like a Smurf if I'm offered a choice."

"Enough."

"You're no fun."

I bit my nails and got to work. The first several minutes were spent filling out forms and waiting, which made it easy to pretend I was getting my license renewed or some shit. Charlie finally sat beside me but shifted uncomfortably in his seat, getting up every few minutes to pace a circle around the bank of chairs.

My phone buzzed suddenly in my pocket, and I squealed in surprise.

"You alright there?"

"Yeppers."

The screen indicated a call coming in from E. Cullen.

"I'm gonna take this call, okay?"

"Can't it wait? They could call you in any second."

"Relax, Dad," I said gently. "Get yourself a coffee."

He grunted in acquiescence, and I slid my thumb along the screen to answer the call. "Edward?" I said, walking away from the main reception for a bit of privacy.

"Uh, no," a deep voice replied. "This is Emmett."

_Riiiiiight. Well, shit._ "Um, hey." I bit my lip. Answering my phone was clearly a lapse in judgement. I didn't have time to deal with this. "Yeah, so, hi . . . look, I know you don't know me but-"

"I know you." Emmett laughed, a booming, infectious sound that made me smile. "You've got my little brother spun. Dude, you must be a hot piece of ass. Wanna send me a pic?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. I have monster tits and a pencil-thin waist. Not to mention an ass that won't quit . . . doing whatever it is that asses do. Hey, you'd know about what asses do, being one yourself."

"Bitch, that's cold. What did I ever do to you?"

"Nothing, buddy, but you hurt a friend of mine. Which we totally need to talk about, but now isn't a good time."

"Fuck that shit," Emmett replied, his voice friendly despite his words. "Ask Eddie - I've never hurt a fly. If anything, I should be pissed off at you for messing with my brother."

"I love your brother, asshole. This isn't about him. We need to talk about Rosalie."

"Nah," he replied, his voice turning cold. "Let's talk about Eddie."

"Hoes before bros," I retorted.

"Ho is right."

"Oh my fucking god, you need to get your head out of your ass for a second and listen to me." And just like that, I thought about the _Human Centipede _again and cursed Netflix for enticing me to watch crappy torture porn. "She didn't cheat on you."

"Fuck that. She did. Ask her."

"She didn't. That Boyce or Roy guy-"

"Royce," he interrupted, hissing like a kettle.

"Right. Royce." _Stupid name._ "He raped her. I'm sorry for being so blunt, but I'm kind of in the middle of something, and I needed to tell you before-"

"What? Don't fucking lie to me." Now he growled like a bear. Edward's brother made some really strange noises.

"I'm not. He did. She lied about it because she was ashamed about what happened to her. You need to speak to her. I'm pretty sure she misses your sorry ass."

"Even if it's true . . . she hates me. She won't listen to anything I have to say."

"Well . . . do you still love her?"

"I dunno . . . no. Well, yeah. Shit." He made a pathetic sobbing sound followed by a cough.

"Emmett, I've spoken to you for like three minutes now, and I like you very much. You're a no nonsense fucker, which I totally appreciate. _I'm_ also very blunt. Here's my advice to you: go see Rosalie. Get her to tell you the truth and apologize like a little bitch."

"But-"

I ended the call because Charlie waved his arms at me to come back. An officer stood beside him, both men looking expectantly at me.

To paraphrase the fabulous Tallahassee from _Zombieland_: it was time to nut up or shut up.

-({})-

"What can I do, baby?" Charlie asked helplessly while I sobbed, a heavy darkness shrouding my head despite the eerie yellow glow from the motel lamp. I curled into a ball on the bed and keened into my arms. I'd lost language. I could only communicate in sorrow.

Charlie patted my back carefully, like I could break if he used too much pressure.

I was already broken.

"You did good, Bells. I'm proud of you."

In what universe did I do well?

"I- I didn't explain it right," I managed between snot-sobs. "They think I wanted it."

"No, baby. They don't. The officer just thinks statutory rape will be easier to prove."

I meant to tell him 'fuck that shit' but instead, I howled - a loud, primal sound.

"Shit," he muttered and grabbed my phone.

On any other day, I would have rochambeau'd a man for touching my precious iPhone.

I closed my eyes, squirming on the bed, a heavy force holding me in place. The weight, the terror, it would never end. I still felt him still. Phil. My albatross. The heft of his rigid limbs, his knees and hands like concrete blocks biting into my flesh.

Bruising. I was still bruising.

"Bella?"

"Go away," I rasped, rolling onto my side and finding some relief as I cuddled a pillow.

Charlie put the phone to my ear.

"Bella?"

"Edward?" I gasped. "How did you find me here in the bowels of this despair?"

"Oh, baby . . . I should've gone with you," he whispered miserably.

"I don't want you to see me like this."

"I can't see you; we're on the phone."

"Right. Well, I don't want you to hear me like this. I'm in the throes of a breakdown. You don't need to know how psychotic I really am."

"You're not psychotic." He took a deep breath, and I pressed the phone fast against my ear, luxuriating in the sound. It reminded me of when we cuddled and his mouth would graze my neck.

"I don't have normal reactions to things," I argued.

"Bullshit. What's normal? All reactions are subjective. How can normal exist when there is no objective reality? We are all the sum of our reactions, and you have every right to feel what you're feeling."

"Guh?"

"I've been spending a lot of time with Dr. Banner." His voice sounded sheepish. "In my quest to become normal he's been challenging me to define it. I can't."

"Edward." I wiped the tears off my cheeks and rolled onto my back. "I don't want you to be anything other than who you are."

"You said you won't be with me until I'm better. I'm trying to be better." Fuck, he sounded so young. Did I do that to him?

"We need to talk. I'll be home tomorrow."

"Don't say that. Please? I love you. We don't need to talk," he insisted, his voice taking on a manic edge that sounded too much like me.

"We do. It's not bad. I promise . . . I love you too."

**A/N - I'd like to just say I love you guys for reading this story and having an open mind; the subject matter is a little difficult to deal with at times. It's difficult to write. Thank you for reviewing! My confidence is really crap most of the time, and the encouragement means more than I can express.**

**Spanking the Monkey! Check my profile for the link to the contest page. There are twenty submissions already in the spank bank! Read them!**

**Gigglesnort Awards: Stigmata is nominated along with some of my favourite stories.**

**Shadow will be updated next. It's also on the ballot for Fic of the Week over on The Lemonade Stand. So is Yesternight by Pastiche Pen which you should totally read. Actually, you should just read everything she's ever written and posted. **


	35. Unended

**A/N - beta'd by mac who has a really cute nose and jkane180 who always smells like dryer sheets and sugar.**

Facebook status: I have no fucking clue.

I sat in my truck across from Edward's house at the ass-crack of gloaming, which totally sounded like about four in the morning. It wasn't - I googled that shit, and Wiki said it's twilight. I needed a word for not-quite-morning, when a foreboding fog hangs thick in the air but there isn't enough light yet to see it.

My eyes fucking ached from crying, but I tapped a text message out on my phone, squinting through my swollen lids: _I'm in your firmer. Come goat me._

Oh my god! _Damn you auto correct!_

I just asked Edward to goat me. That sounded dirty.

Really, all I wanted to do was sleep. It wasn't happening, though. My mind spun, unravelling reams of tape, memories like horror films I'd thought I'd forgotten. But repression only works for so long, especially when it's my fucking duty to remember the details... the minutiae of rape. There had been charts and forms and checklists, stamps and signatures with clauses to initial. Diagrams, timelines, and for the love of fuck why was there no rape kit? Questions fired and half-formed replies whispered shamefully.

_What happened? Why did it happen? Did you try to stop it?_

Yes, Officer, I did. I tried.

_Every time?_

No.

_Why not?_

Panic had seized my chest, squeezing my heart in an iron choke hold, when he'd asked that question. I'd looked at him, maybe giving him a poker face but probably not. More likely, I'd sobbed, but my memory wasn't lucid. I thought I'd seen a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.

Maybe he had a daughter?

I'd told him there was only so much fight in me. The things that were done to me didn't hurt if I didn't fight. The shame had been inevitable; the pain didn't have to be.

The officer had nodded, but I don't think he'd understood at all.

My phone buzzed, jerking me back into the present as the vibrations electrified my numb fingers. I checked my text messages, scratching my nose in tired confusion as the phone continued to shimmy like an oversexed vibrator.

Why wouldn't it stop? My body shuddered in kind, and I crawled over the centre console into the back of the truck. There were no seats, but the floor was carpeted and flat back there, leaving just enough space for me to sprawl out and sleep. Placing the phone on my stomach, I lay on my back, the intermittent buzzing soothing my sore belly. iPhone needed to create some sort of massage app because that shit would be awesome!

I closed my eyes, but the dark offered no relief.

After a few minutes I realized someone was calling me - over and over again. I unlocked the screen and slid the phone to my ear.

"Bella," Rosalie hissed. No, really, she sounded like a snake even though there were no S's in my name.

"Hey, buddy." So fucking tired. Christ, I'd trade my iPad for some decent sleep.

"Don't _buddy_ me, you scunt. I will end you." Her cold voice coupled with that random threat sobered me a little.

"Uh, are you pissed at me, Rose?" I inquired dumbly. "Because honestly, I have no clue."

"No clue?" The timber in her voice rose to banshee level. "What the fuck, Bella? What did you say to Emmett?"

Oh, right. "I called him a douchenozzle," I explained. "Because if the nozzle fits, you must acquit . . . no, wait, that's not right at all-"

"You told him about Royce!" she screamed. "I told you that in confidence. Fuck . . . if he tells Alice, the entire world will know."

"Hold up." I yawned. I didn't mean to. "How is what he did to you worse than the guy you love thinking you're a ho bucket?"

"You _know _why."

Yeah, I did, but I wished to fuck I didn't.

"I know your secret too, remember. How would _you_ feel if I told Edward?"

"He knows. I mean, I told him." I sat up, my phone vibrating in my hands. "Can you hold on a sec? I want to check my texts."

"You told him," she said slowly, and I wondered if she'd been drinking or taking opium. Not that anyone actually does opium anymore - it just kind of sounded cooler than pot. Whatever. She was all kinds of stoned on something.

"I told him," I confirmed. "Hey, do you know how I could get my hands on some opium? And also, do you smoke it?"

"Shut the fuck up." She inhaled loudly and sputtered out a cough. "What did he do? Did he flip?"

"His reaction was . . . reasonable, I suppose." Wait, what? I hadn't thought so at the time. When I'd found out he called _Daddy _I was livid. Now, that didn't seem fair. I mean, he only wanted to get help for me. Edward really loved me and shit.

_Edward loves me._

I felt a tingling in my arms and chest. "Huh," I mused. "Either I'm having an epiphany or a heart attack. Should I be smelling burnt toast?"

"Probably not."

"Okay, then I'm fine." I smelled stale coffee on the upholstery but no burnt toast. That was like a sign of a stroke - a universal olfactory hallucination.

"Bella!" Rosalie screamed. "Emmett knows about Royce! He wants to talk to me."

"That's amazing!" I enthused, crawling back into the front seat. I peered out the dew-covered windshield and noticed the light in the front of the house was now illuminated.

"No," she seethed, "it's not."

Christ. This conversation was so Samuel Beckett it wasn't funny. "Do you love Emmett?"

"No," she said quickly. "I did . . . not so much now."

"See, that's bullshit," I said, because it looked and walked like a duck, as per the saying about ducks.

"He left me, Bella. I needed him so much, and he wouldn't even take my calls. Did you know he broke up with me on Facebook?"

"He wrote on your wall?" I gasped.

"Not even." She hiccuped. "He changed his status to single and unfriended me." A sob honked in my ear.

That was cold. Emmett needed to be nut punched for that shit.

"He left because you lied to him. What would he have done if you'd been honest?"

"He'd never look at me the same way. The taint, Bella . . . it never goes away. I- I couldn't stand him looking at me like that."

"Rose, I think I love you a little, so I'll be nice. You're a twat." The front door opened, and I could see Edward's red hair peeking out from under a hoodie, his sleep pants riding low on his hips. My lips curled into a smile, unbidden by me. "Emmett deserves the truth, and you obviously still love him."

"Listen, you bitch-"

"Can't talk now, but call me later. Oh, and call Emmett, like, now!" I hit the end call button while Rose was mid-scream.

I kicked the door in a fugue state as Edward approached the truck. A tension built in my jaw, and I wasn't sure if I needed to yawn or shriek. He opened the door for me and I jumped out.

All I really wanted to do was throw myself at him, but he stood stiffly in front of me looking twelve kinds of uncomfortable.

"Hi," Edward said awkwardly, dropping his hands beneath the elastic waistband of his pants. His fingers fidgeted below the material, and I wondered if he did that because he didn't have pockets. Maybe he wanted to touch himself while looking at me. That would be hot.

"Um, hi." I averted my eyes, praying to whatever random god frequented Forks that he couldn't read my mind.

"So . . . I'm here to goat you." He smirked, his upper lip rising crookedly.

"Cool, 'cause I've been waiting in your firmer."

"Bella . . . will you come inside?" His thumb popped out of his pants, and he fisted the material.

"Yeah, okay. What are you doing to your waistband, dude? It's kind of weird."

"Sorry," he muttered, quickly placing his hands on his hips. "I'm a little nervous, I guess."

"Me too," I admitted, following him along the path that led to his front porch. It was too dark tonight, barely a fingernail of moon lighting the sky. Edward offered me his hand, and I giggled as I took it because it had just been down the front of his pants. My feet never felt like they touched the ground after that. Even though we were only holding hands, somehow, he carried me.

Edward always carried me.

The house was quiet, seeming to amplify the sound of the door the door screaming too loudly on its hinges. He held it for me which was odd since it wasn't the kind of door that needed to be held open. Maybe he just wanted to keep his hands busy.

"So, we need to talk," I reminded him, keeping my voice as even as I could. He fidgeted with the lock while I waited by the foot of the stairs, unsure if we were going to his room or not.

I wanted to go to his room. That wasn't the best course of action, but I wanted it more than anything - more than justice or vengeance or even peace.

I finally knew what I wanted. Edward.

"I was so worried . . . Hey, why are you just standing there?"

"Uh, why are _you_ just standing there?" I countered. Fuck me, I wanted to touch him. I took a clumsy step forward, reaching my hands toward his face. It occurred to me I probably looked like a zombie, or a Michael Jackson back-up dancer from the video _Thriller_, but I didn't care. Two more steps directed me into his arms, and I collapsed against his chest. "We need to talk," I told his pecs, and they seemed to flex in response.

"I know, pretty girl. Should we go to the living room?"

I shook my head, pressing my lips into his breastbone.

"The kitchen?" His breath hitched, his arms tightening around me.

"Your room, Edward."

"O-okay. My room." He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as I stepped back. "I don't . . . I mean, I can control myself, it's just that-"

"I know," I said softly. "I don't want to have this conversation right now. Can we just go upstairs?" Whatever. I sounded pathetic, but the pain, the utter exhaustion of being me - I couldn't do it. "I can't do it," I whispered, the contents of my brain spilling out of my mouth. A sob bubbled up as I spewed thoughts like bile. "I can't do it without you. Please? Please? I'm so sorry. I tried to be strong and brave and good for you, but I can't." My legs shuddered, collapsing under the weight of my outburst, and I broke like a levee, a deluge of grief overtaking me.

On my knees now, I wrapped my arms around his legs. "Sometimes I feel like it's always night, like the morning will never come." Air burned through my throat, my chest constricting as I tried to breathe properly. "I'm so fucking lonely."

And then I couldn't speak. I couldn't even cry.

"Baby," Edward whispered tenderly, kneeling to gather me into his arms. "Don't you know how much I love you?" I wrapped my legs around his hips, my arms around his neck; he stood, lifting me with him. "You're not alone, pretty girl. I've got you." Hot breath grazed my ear, his lips soft and sweet on my cheek.

"What I said, you know before . . . I still mean it. We shouldn't be together until we're well enough to deal with our shit."

"Okay." He loosened his grip on me, so I tightened my hold on his neck.

"Don't let go."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said." I buried my face into his shoulder. "It's bullshit. I've never done what's right, and I'm sure as fuck not going to start now."

"So you're . . . what are you saying exactly?"

I nudged his chin with my forehead and placed an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. "I'm fucked up. You're fucked up. Let's be fucked up together." I had more to say, but Edward was suddenly very greedy with my mouth, his lips eagerly seeking mine out. I forgot what else I wanted to say anyway. How could I think? I couldn't, not with his tongue in my mouth, a constant moan creating vibrations in my nose.

No, I couldn't think, but I could finally breathe again.

"I love you," I managed to say between moans.

"I love you, Bella."

**A/N - I texted myself "I'm in the driveway, come get me" until Auto Correct gave me something silly for this chapter of Tomato. I might have sent "I'm in the firmer, come goat me" by accident to my friend. What's weird is she replied with "okay, I'll goat you."**

**My outline calls for only one more chapter of Tomato but I'll be completing in two. I'll also be posting an outtake that I wrote for FSAA - it's an Eddie POV account from his therapy journal. Speaking of Eddie POVs, I'm contributing one of In the Shadow of Your Heart for the fandom4lls. To donate or contribute, please visit their blog on blogspot.**

**For the love of toast, please review me?**


	36. Edward's Journal Outtake

**A/N - This was originally written for FSAA. The final chapters of Stigmata will be posted this week and next!**

Stigmata Tomato: Edward's POV

The Diary of a Sexual Compulsive, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (because I suck at titles)

Banner: catonspeed

Betas: Mac214 and Jkane180

My prompt from Stigmata Tomato is Edward's Journal entry from his therapy Diary:

Banner asked me today if I think about anything other than pussy. Just like that, the guy uses the word "pussy," and I wonder if Dad knows the way his favourite therapist speaks to his patients. But it got me thinking about pussy, of course, since I never think about anything else anymore. I tell him I think about other things too, and I'm not really sure if I'm lying. He then asks me if I can think about a girl without thinking about fucking. I ask him if blow jobs count as fucking. He shrugs and says not according to Clinton, and I laugh because Clinton makes me think about having my dick sucked. Just like that, my cock is hard when I'm trying not to think about sex. So, yeah, I tell him I'm unable to think about oatmeal without thinking about pussy, let alone look at a girl and see her for anything beyond her twat. Well, then the asshole asks me about my mother, and I just about puke. No, I agree, I don't think about sex when I think about her... or my sister, thank fuck. Banner seems relieved. He asks me to look back and try to remember a girl, any girl, I could think about in a "chaste" way. Sure, there's plenty of girls I don't want to fuck... ugly girls. He asks me about my first sexual experience, and I can't remember. He then asks me about my first kiss, which I'll never forget. Bella Swan, I tell him. We were six. She punched me in the arm for pulling her ponytail and then kissed me because I cried. She was so pretty, and she smelled like vanilla ice cream. What happened to her, he asks. She moved away at the end of first grade. He tells me to hold onto that feeling. The kiss. The smell of her hair. Hold onto it and remember what it felt like to be exhilarated by the simple pleasure of an innocent kiss.

I've lost so much time. I want it back. I want _her_. But she won't let me be with her until I'm better. But fuck, I've tried so hard to be better. Banner asks me if I've really done all I could to get better for her, and I try not to glare at him as I consider the question. No, I tell him, but I'll keep trying.

Now I have fucking homework.

**Therapy Log**

**Please answer every question honestly. Use this as an opportunity to be creative. **

**Children have longer memories than adults give them credit for. Prompt one: tell me about your first impressions of Isabella Swan. Get back into your six-year-old head.**

Isabella Swan was nothing like the other girls. She was prettier. I liked her hair. It was brown and shiny. I wanted to touch it. I tried to touch it once, and she called me a creep.

She smelled nice. Like vanilla ice cream. Like my mother sort of . . . but sweeter.

She didn't say much. When she did, she spoke differently than other people, noticing things that other kids didn't see.

"I like Batman," she told me one day, pointing at my _Batman Beyond_ T-shirt. "He's the only real super hero."

"Nah-uh!" I liked him too, but Superman was way cooler.

"It _is_ true! My dad said he has no super powers, but he fights bad guys anyway. Superman's like an alien that can't be killed."

"So?" She was just a girl! How dare she say Batman was better. "He's indestructible - The Man of Steel! What's better than that?"

"A man who can die but is so brave he still fights evil. That's a real hero."

"I'm a real guy," I told her, staring at her shiny ponytail. I wanted to touch it so much.

"So you're not an alien or radioactive freak? Neat." She giggled, her hair bouncing along with her shoulders. Without thinking, I wound the end of her ponytail around my fingers and pulled it lightly. She squealed and punched me in the arm.

It hurt . . . not my arm - my pride.

"Ow," I whined, embarrassed, trying to hide the stupid tears from her.

"That did not hurt!"

I replied with a sob.

"Oh, Edward . . . I didn't mean to hurt you." She smiled at me, little dimples I'd never noticed before puckering her cheeks. "Let me see your arm?"

"Are you gonna punch me again?"

"No, I'm going to kiss it."

Gross! "No way!"

"Don't be a pansy," she ordered, grabbing my hand. Very lightly, she kissed my arm.

It made me feel very . . . strange. I wanted to yell at her and hug her at the same time.

"Better?" she asked.

"No."

"It has to be better! I kissed it."

"Yeah, but you kissed the wrong arm."

"Oh." She frowned. "Should I kiss your other arm?"

I smiled nervously. "I think you're gonna have to."

She kissed me again, and I fell in love.

**Prompt two: first sexual experience?**

Boarding school - and I don't like talking about it. This little cunt, Jane, deep-throated me. I mean, how the fuck does a freshman know how to do that shit? I came in about ten seconds and had my pants done up before she could finish swallowing.

I let her go down on me again a few times because, I mean, fuck . . . that was sort of my gateway drug. Did you know blowjobs to a sex addict are like weed to a drug addict? A simple, innocuous activity, just a little taste, and suddenly I needed to get my dick wet every fucking day.

**Prompt three: how did you feel after you lost your virginity?**

Fucking awesome.

**Prompt four: first time you felt romantic love?**

See response to prompt one.

**Prompt five: explain how you felt when you saw Isabella Swan again.**

There are no words.

Actually, that's a cop out. There are lots of words.

I saw her again in the parking lot at Newton's Outfitters. Nothing could have possibly prepared me for the affect she had on me.

She was a bolt of electricity to my dead heart. That's what it felt like, looking at her. I'd had so much random pussy over the last year I didn't think I could feel anything other than my dick hardening in my pants at the thought of a girl.

But looking at her, even from a distance . . . my chest constricted and my pulse raced like I'd just done a line of coke (only tried it once, I swear!). I think I would've recognized her even if she wasn't with Chief Swan . . . her hair was just like I remembered: thick and shiny, reds blazing through rich browns like chili-infused chocolate. It fell loosely down her back and again, I felt that strange compulsion to wrap the tendrils around my hand.

Our eyes met, and she seemed pissed off . . . maybe embarrassed about something. She covered her eyes with that beautiful hair, fidgeting awkwardly while her father rifled through the back seat for something.

Could I approach her to introduce myself? She didn't look like she wanted to talk to anyone. I got out of my car slowly, trying to steal another glance at her. I suddenly regretted not brushing my hair properly when I left the house; it looked a wreck. She probably cared about nice hair, what with hers being so perfect.

Maybe that's why she stared at me so oddly.

I had to figure out a way to speak with her without freaking her out. _Hi, I'm Edward Cullen, and I've been cyber stalking you for the last year because I think you might be my true love. _Yeah, no. Probably not a good opener.

I tried to swagger into the store but nearly lost my pants in the process. _Hi, I'm Edward Cullen, and here's my cock. _Again, not great for a first impression.

My dick twitched, idly wondering if she'd shake him if I introduced them.

Whatever. I needed to freak out inside of the store for a minute. Then I could search my jeans for my balls, since obviously, I'd misplaced them.

She was just a girl. What was wrong with me?

"Hey, Mike," I said casually, as the ringing bell over the door announced my entrance.

"Dude! Is that her?" Mike asked, face pressed to the window.

"Her?" What the fuck did he mean by that?

"The Swan chick. Is she hot? Fuck, I'm dying for some new pussy."

"Don't be an asshole," I spat. "The Chief's outside, and I'm pretty sure he'll shoot your junk off if he hears you talking about his daughter like that."

"Yeah, right. Thanks, man."

As if on cue, her father opened the door and approached Newton. I really hoped he'd overheard our conversation. Mike was a little cunt.

"Morning, Mike," Chief Swan mumbled. "Did you get the lures in that I ordered?"

"Uh, yeah. They're in the back." Mike grabbed a step stool from behind the counter and winked at me. As soon as the Chief wandered out of earshot, he whispered, "I wanna fuck her when you're done with her."

_Go near her, and I'll cut you!_

I bolted, jogging to the front of the store to avoid punching him in the nose. I'd been in enough shit with my dad lately. And fuck if I could remember what I came in to buy in the first place! Pushing the door open a little aggressively in my rage, I felt it collide with something solid and noticed a brunette laying in a heap on the sidewalk.

_Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck! _"Holy fuck, are you okay?" I offered her my hand quickly, but she just stared at it in a daze. Did she have a concussion? "May I help you up?"

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head.

She _wasn't _fine though. Her nose looked banged up, blood falling in steady, crimson streams down her mouth and chin.

"Shit, your nose. Come to my car, okay?" I begged pathetically while she contemplated me with a wary expression. "I'm not a psycho; you're perfectly safe with me, I swear," I qualified.

"I'm fine," she repeated stubbornly, obviously wanting nothing to do with me. The rejection felt like a kick in the gut as she stared at me with those wide, gorgeous eyes. But shit, I couldn't just let her sit there and bleed. I tore my shirt off and wadded it up under her nose, praying that it didn't stink too bad.

"Tilt your head back."

"I'm so sorry!" she stammered.

"Are you apologizing for bleeding?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

It was time to nut up and introduce myself. I mean, I wouldn't tell her how deep my obsession for her ran or anything. I'd play it casual. "You're Isabella Swan, right?" There. Totally breezy.

"Bella... but, yeah." She coughed.

"I'm Edward Cullen." My shirt was practically red on the one side already, so I turned it around, offering her the clean side. Losing this much blood so quickly couldn't be good. "I'm calling my dad, okay? He'll come see you."

"We only just met," she protested, squirming uncomfortably.

I laughed. "He's a doctor."

"Right." She jumped to her feet and threw my shirt back at me as if it disgusted her. "Actually, I'm fine. Really." She glanced at the road, rearing up like a horse preparing to run.

Shit, she hated me.

So much for first impressions.

**Prompt Six: how did Isabella find out about your condition?**

I decided to tell her. I really had no clue how to go about doing it, but my dad made it pretty clear I shouldn't mess with her.

I wouldn't have, by the way. Being with Bella wasn't about getting laid.

No, that's not exactly true. I wanted to fuck her. Actually, I'd really like to fuck her right now, but it's not an option.

After I saw her at the hospital, I knew I couldn't just date her. I tried to pump my dad for information about why she was in the ER, but he wouldn't say shit. Only that she was troubled.

Troubled.

Yeah, I knew that already. Every post on her blog read like an open suicide note.

I picked her up after therapy one night. We were supposed to get something to eat - and before you think I'm terrible for not listening to my father, for not leaving her alone, understand that I tried. I really did try not to see her.

But she was everywhere. She was all I ever saw.

She waited for me outside of the Victorian house our therapist practised out of - a century home converted into office space.

"Hey, beautiful." I panted like a dog, trying not to ogle her rack. Her tits looked awesome in that shirt. I wondered what her nipples looked like. I bet they were small. I hated huge nips. Oh, fuck, what was wrong with me?

"Hi," she replied carefully, cocking her eyebrow curiously. She sat down carefully, and I kicked myself for not getting out to open the door for her.

I watched her squirm a little in the passenger seat and wondered what the fuck she was thinking.

"Why is my ass sweating?" she asked finally.

"Seat warmers." I tried not to laugh. "Are you hot?"

"So hot... I mean, uh, yeah. Sorry, I just don't like being overheated. Could you crack a window?"

"Sure thing." I couldn't stop smiling. She looked so fucking adorable as she chewed on her sleeve nervously, her huge eyes darting quickly from my face to her lap. I wanted her to look at me so badly. I watched, fixated by a little bead of sweat that rolled down her neck. My balls ached as I imagined licking it off her skin.

Oh, shit, she was looking at me. Did she notice me eye-fucking her?

"Put your seatbelt on," I said, grabbing the gearshift and wishing I could take myself in my hand and come all over her tits.

_No! Fuck, I'm such a pathetic pervert._

"Why? Is it a law in Washington?"

"Yes, but that's not why. You're very precious cargo." My voice sounded strained as I squeezed the shift harder.

"Dude, is that a compliment? Because you just insinuated I was property."

"Not property - cargo, and sadly, not mine."

_Oh, fuck me and my word vomit!_

"You, er... what?" she stuttered and, I swear to fuck, looked at my dick.

"You're fucking beautiful, Bella." I glanced at her face, her full lips mesmerizing me like a sensitive pansy. "If only this wasn't so fucked up."

"Keep your eyes on the road," she whispered, ignoring my compliment. _Not a good sign_. I gripped the wheel hard, looking at her from the corner of my eye. I'd probably freaked her out by gaping at her like a spaz.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she added, biting that puffy lower lip. My cock became solid. Fuck me, the girl had a cock-sucking mouth.

_I will not jizz my shorts, I will not jizz my shorts..._

"Yeah, I'm sort of counting on that," I replied.

"Could you be a little more cryptic?"

I snorted. "Yeah, probably."

"What do you mean by things are fucked up?" She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her legs onto the seat like she was trying to fold in on herself.

"Well, for one thing, you have a boyfriend." Lucky bastard!

"What else?" she mumbled, her face flushing.

"Why are you in therapy? Why did my dad have to give you Ativan?"

"Because I tried to kill myself." Her voice seemed to echo through the small space of the car. How could she be so nonchalant about wanting to die? I didn't know what to say. My chest constricted, aching. I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her.

But that might have been weird.

"Did you want to die?" I asked carefully, keeping my voice casual.

"Not really."

"Then why did you do it?"

She shrugged again like it didn't matter. "I was looking for an exit strategy... look, can we talk about something else?"

"Yeah, sorry . . . do you have any hobbies?"

"Yeah, I write terrible poetry about killing myself." She laughed, her entire face lighting up.

I wanted to to make her smile more. I wanted it to be my job to make her happy, not her douchebag boyfriend's. Alright, it was unfair of me to assume he was an asshole, but at least he could spend more time making her happy. If she'd been mine I'd . . . I'd spend every second reminding her how amazing she was.

"You're awesome," I told her, wanting to repeat it a few times because she really _was_. I could spend hours just looking at her, listening to her talk. _Because that's not creepy . . ._

"Thanks." She closed her eyes, her face scrunching up like she was in pain, her cute little nose wrinkling. I had to remind myself to watch the road . . . my hand itched to touch her. I took a deep breath to steel myself, then realized my breathing sounded like panting.

I didn't want her to know I was a pervert. _I bet she'd look so fucking hot bent over the hood of my car while I pounded into her tight little-_

She gasped, and I surreptitiously attempted to adjust my hard on without palming my dick.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, reaching for her hand before remembering we couldn't really hold hands while I drove stick.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Tired…"

I didn't want to let go of her. Just touching her fingers made me crazy horny. Without thinking, I placed her slender hand over the gearshift, watching her fingers circle the shaft and, god help me, jerk the shift a couple times.

Bella moaned, making my cock throb against the zipper of my jeans. Oh, fuck, I bet she'd suck my dick. I imagined her mouth wrapped around me, her hair draped over my hips as she stared at me with half-closed eyes, sucking and whimpering.

Wanting me inside her.

"Shit," I groaned, my thoughts poisoned once again by my disease. "Bella?"

She bit her lip so hard I thought she'd bleed. Her eyes were wide, glistening. I couldn't tell if she was embarrassed or freaked out. "Fuck!"

"It's okay. Don't be nervous."

"I'm… mortified."

"No, baby... don't be." I squeezed her hand in what I hoped she'd perceive as an affectionate gesture and looked for a good place to pull to the side of the road.

"Oh my god! What are you doing?"

"Pulling over."

"Why?" She squeezed her eyes shut. Why did she seem so freaked out? I'd never hurt her . . . well, not on purpose. The hard on in my shorts disagreed; he wanted to split her like wood.

"Because I think we're both a little over-excited, and I need to come clean about something." I cut the engine and let the car drift to the side of the highway. Not my brightest moment but whatever.

"You're excited?" She sounded surprised by this fact.

"Yeah."

"Like, um... aroused?"

Time for the moment of truth. "I'm hard as a rock."

"I want you," she said timidly, pleading at me with her eyes.

_Yes! _the monster in my pants cheered while my mind whimpered, _shit shit shit shit shit! _

She reached for me; I had to stop her from making a move before I lost control.

"I..." My voice faltered, and I grabbed her hand. "This isn't a good idea."

"Please?" she begged, "Please, please, please..." She said the words over and over again, begging for me to touch her. And fuck, I wanted to. If I was normal, I would've pulled her into my arms and kissed the shit out of her . . . but the beast in me was out for her pussy.

I fucking hated myself so much.

"Oh, shit, Bella. I can't do this."

"Please?"

It hurt me to do it, but I pushed her away. "I need to take you back to your car."

"Why?" Her lower lip trembled. "You said you were... hard."

"I'm pretty much always hard." I laughed bitterly. "And you're too good for me."

"I'm not," she insisted. I hated the tears that streaked her face - the tears I caused her to cry.

"This was a mistake, Bella... I'm sorry."

She undid her seatbelt and curled up into a ball, folding her arms around her knees as if she wanted to disappear. She looked so small.

"I'm sorry," I repeated lamely.

"You said that already."

"Please don't cry. I couldn't stand it."

"Fuck you!" she screamed, sitting up straight and rubbing the tears away from her cheeks with her fists. "How dare he tell me how to feel? So this was obviously some sort of elaborate ruse you concocted to humiliate me. Consider me fucking destroyed!"

"No, it wasn't..." I said miserably, not knowing how to explain myself. I pulled into the parking lot slowly, searching in vain for the right thing to say before she fled from my car and my life forever. "I know you're not going to believe me, but I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?"

"From being used . . . I like you too much."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she snapped, punching the dashboard, her tits bouncing in a way that distracted me from thinking logically. "I'm getting whiplash from your mixed signals. You like me... You want to protect me... I make you hard, but you don't want to fuck me."

_Oh, yeah, baby. Say "fuck me" again._

"I want to... fuck you. Just resisting you right now is practically killing me." My dick nodded in agreement.

"What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I lowered my head into my palms and admitted, "I'm a sexual compulsive, and your pussy is like a drug to me."

**Prompt Six: is being with Isabella different than the "random pussy" you've had before?**

Yeah, it is. I fucking love her.

Will she be okay?

**A/N - Big love to Aylah50 & Coldplaywhore for organizing this wonderful charity. Thank YOU for reading. JSYK, my phone is in my husband's pocket right now because we're on our way out and I'm not bringing my purse. Every time you review, it buzzes and pisses him off!**


	37. Burden of Proof

**A/N Love to betas mac and jkane180, and I wouldn't have been able to write this chapter without lizconno's help with the American justice system. She's so randomly awesome.**

Facebook Status: Okay, I'm an idiot. I just figured out my iPhone 4 plays video. Need a firmware update RTFN!

Oh my god, I totally fucked Edward's brains out all night.

Except for the fact that I'm lying, and I didn't. Also, I'm a complete asshole because I fell asleep on the goddamn sofa before we could properly make-out or even cuddle.

I stretched, locking my jaw to suppress a yawn. My back ached from sleep, but the green eyes that greeted me when I opened mine instantly chased the pain, and I mean all the pain, away. My fingers found their way to his face, and I rubbed the shadow of stubble over his jaw, feeling my eyes narrow as he openly gaped.

"You're staring at me," I whispered, blowing dragon fire breath all over his face. My hand flew to my mouth, and I mumbled out an apology into my palm, sitting.

"Yeah." He grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away from my face. "I missed looking at you . . . I don't know, like I thought maybe I'd never see you again. Can I kiss you?"

I shook my head. "My breath smells like ass."

"Uh, unless your mouth was literally on another dude's ass, I don't give a fuck." He smiled sheepishly. "I was kinda sorta stalking your Facebook while you were away."

"Oh! The ass to mouth comment. Uh, long story involving The Human Centipede."

"Ew."

"Yeah. Double ew."

He lowered his face to mine, but I lost my nerve, turning my head at the last second and offering him my cheek. He'd think I was gross if he had a whiff.

"Bella," he whined. "I really don't care about your breath."

I snaked my arms around his neck, burying my fossilized mouth into his chest. "lllmmmm rmm ermm," I told him.

"Sure, except I have no idea what you just said."

"Upstairs, please," I huffed out. "And do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?"

"Of course. Unless you want to brush your teeth with my cock." His face reddened. "Shit. Fuck. I didn't just say that. I only thought it."

I couldn't stop laughing. Seriously, my ribs nearly broke under the strain of my answering guffaw. "You're so fucking smooth." I ran my hand over the front of his pants, grazing his Waterpik. "You want a BJ, huh? Yeah, I can do that for you." I dropped to my knees and tugged at the drawstrings of his waistband, tufts of reddish-brown hair popping of his boxers. "I missed little Sex-hair," I confessed, kissing his navel, feeling the muscles spasm as he took a sharp intake of air.

"I do- fuck, yeah. I want you to . . . just . . . let's talk first, okay?" He fisted my hair, making no attempt to move.

"Okay. Let's talk." My lips made a farting sound as I sucked his shaft through his thin cotton pants. "I have so much to say right now."

"We should go to my room. Aww, fuck, yeah." He panted, pushing my face away from his dick. A dark spot suddenly blossomed over the material covering his crotch as he wheezed out a string of expletives.

"Uh . . . did you just . . . I mean, I know I'm good and stuff but-"

"I haven't been able to jack off since you broke up with me," he rushed out. "I mean, I've barely gotten wood at all. And then you're here, and your mouth is so . . . I'm a little mortified."

My chest felt heavy, but it wasn't with the usual ennui. Like the Grinch, I swear, my heart grew three sizes. I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat tightened around a sob. On shaking legs, I stood and collapsed into Edward's torso.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I nodded, tears sliding down my cheeks. I felt oddly light - like I could float upstairs and into Edward's bed.

"You need to know something," I managed to say. "You need to know I love you. I'm so in love with you, Edward." Grabbing handfuls of his shirt, I pulled him fast against me, his arms tightening. I wiped my nose against his bicep. "I'm not leaving you. I'm never going anywhere without you . . . as long as you'll have me, I mean."

"I'll always have you. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

"Are you trying to get me to suck your dick again?"

He laughed. "I always want you to suck my dick. But even if you didn't want to blow me ever again, it wouldn't matter. You make me want to be a better man."

"I loved that line when Jack Nicholson said it too."

"Pardon?"

"The 'better man' line is from _As Good As it Gets_."

He shook his head emphatically. "No. No way."

"People who speak in metaphors should shampoo my crotch."

"What?"

I sighed. "It's a great fucking movie filled with one-liners like that. And you quoted it. Good for you. Can we make love now? How long do you need before all systems are go?"

"My head is spinning."

"I have that effect on people." I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the stairs. "Are your parents home?"

"My mother is." He raised an eyebrow, and I smiled what I hoped was an enigmatic grin like Mona Lisa. It probably wasn't though. It probably was a grimace. Yep, I bet I looked like I was suppressing a belch. Actually, I kind of needed to fart. Were we at that point in our relationship yet?

"We'll have to be quiet, then." I giggled, wanting to sway my hips as he followed me up the stairs. The problem was I needed to clench because Edward was face-level with my ass, and I couldn't exactly let one rip.

"Oh, god," he groaned, grabbing my backside. "I want you so bad . . . you have no fucking clue."

"Please let go of my butt," I hissed.

"Why? Are you not ready? There's no rush, pretty girl. I love you; I'd be happy to just hold and kiss-"

"I have to fart." My face exploded in fire as I unclenched and squeaked out the gas I'd been holding onto for dear life. "I'm so sorry."

He laughed, and I burst out into tears.

"Oh, sweetie, no." His mouth pressed to mine. I was about to push him away, but I didn't want him to fall down the stairs and break something . . . like the hard-on he had reacquired. It pushed into my hip, thumping against me like the tail of a frisky dog.

"I'm so fucking embarrassed."

"It's just gas." He shrugged. "I had a premature ejaculation a few minutes ago. That was pretty humiliating too. You don't think less of me for it."

"Yeah, I totally do," I blubbered.

"Huh?"

"You're hardly a man at all."

His mouth opened and closed a few times like a spastic guppy.

"I'm kidding." I snickered and then farted again. "Fuck."

"I'm so horny right now." He grabbed my tits. "Is this okay?"

"Don't make me laugh! My sphincter belches every time I do." Tears, mostly of mirth, streamed down my cheeks.

We managed to make it to his bedroom without my falling down the stairs or shitting my pants. These were both good things. I felt hopeful and inexplicably happy as I pushed open the door, my fingers entwined with his.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked, embracing me from behind. I felt him hunch over me, breathing hot air onto my neck. He licked and kissed along my pulse point, and my heart and clit throbbed in response.

"Talk? No, Sex-hair. I want you. I want to-" I nearly told him to fuck me, but that wasn't what I wanted at all. I wanted to make love. There was a difference between fucking and loving someone. Together, we'd figure out how to love each other physically. "I want to go slowly. Do you think you could make love to me slowly?"

His brow furrowed. "Was that another crack at my manhood? I swear, it was just pent-up lust. I'll last longer this time. And we can do it as many times as you want-"

"No, Edward. I mean . . . you know how sex is weird for me, right? Can we do it slowly. Like, not like two horny teenagers but like two people who are in love."

"Bella," he moaned, his breath hot in my ear. "I love you so much. Every time I kiss or touch or fuck you, I'm loving you. Every time we fight and cry and laugh, I'm loving you too. I'm always loving you." He turned me around and placed an open-mouthed kiss on my lips. "But dude, we _are _two horny teenagers. Sometimes I'm going to come too quickly. Sometimes I'm going to beg you to blow me; it's who I am. But even when I'm coming in your mouth or finger fucking you in my car during lunch break, I'm doing it while desperately and completely in love with you."

-({})-

My phone still buzzed insistently as I pulled into my driveway. The firmware probably wanted to be updated. Shit, I'd put off syncing my phone into iTunes for too long - I'd plug it into my laptop before passing out for another few hours.

"Bells?" Charlie yelled before I even had the front door open. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Watch your fucking mouth." I giggled. My body felt so light, unburdened by the weight and darkness I'd grown accustomed to. I practically skipped past the kitchen and into the front room where Charlie sat with an attractive redhead. His face, grey and ashen, told the story of another sleepless night.

"You weren't in your room when I checked last night. Can't you answer your phone?"

"Sorry, Dad. I spent the night with Edward." I didn't see any point in lying. "Who's the dame?"

"Siobhan," she said pleasantly, standing to offer her hand. I shook it, careful not to cut myself on her red-talon nails.

"Uh, hi." My eyes sought out my father's. He evaded my gaze.

"She's the lawyer," he explained, fidgeting with his holster. His gun never seemed to leave his hip anymore.

"The one I was supposed to see in Arizona?" Huh. Shouldn't she have gone with us to speak with the police? I hadn't thought to ask Charlie about that at the time; my mind had been a muddled mess.

"You left Phoenix before we could meet." Her lips spread into a smile, lipstick caking in the corners of her mouth.

"Sorry." I looked at my scuffed nails and bit back a cuticle. "So, are you my lawyer? Like, does there have to be a trial? I really don't want to go to trial." Okay, I knew I sounded petulant, but the thought of speaking about what happened in front of all those people - in front of Phil - made me want to claw out of my own skin. Fingers of panic wrapped around my neck, tightening my airway.

She frowned. "Yes, likely there will be a trial. Let me explain-"

"Can't the police just investigate him or whatever? I mean, I already swore out my complaint!" Tears burned my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. My jaw clenched, and I ground my teeth together, breathing . . . just breathing.

"No, Bella. As the plaintiff, you must testify - the burden of proof is your responsibility."

"Burden," I choked out. "I won't do it. I'm fucking done. It's in the cops hands now."

"I don't believe we're talking about the same thing. Did your father speak to you about the civil suit?"

"What the fuck is a civil suit? There's nothing fucking civil about being raped. I'm talking about getting Phil's ass thrown in jail. You don't need me for that shit. Wait, are you the DA? I'm fucking confused."

She shook her head, placing her hand on my shoulder, and I flinched. "I'm afraid you'll have no choice in the matter. You'll likely be subpoenaed to testify, and if you don't cooperate you can be found in contempt of court."

"Like, I'll go to jail?"

She nodded, and I wanted to clock her.

"Dad . . . did you know about this?"

"I- I mean, I knew you'd have to testify. Jeez, Bells . . . I thought you'd know-"

"Is there anything I can do to get out of it?" I begged Siobhan. "Can you talk to the cops and tell them I changed my mind?"

She threw Charlie a bewildered look. "I don't get involved with the police, sweetheart. I thought your father explained why I'm here."

"He didn't." I dug my nails into my hair and clawed at my scalp. "He didn't say anything."

"I'm not a criminal lawyer. Like I said, I'm here to talk to you about filing a civil suit to recoup damages."

"I don't- I mean, a what?"

"Bella," Charlie said carefully. "Phil will pay for what he did to you. Now, the DA will take care of the criminal investigation and trial. Siobhan is here to talk about the, uh, financial stuff."

"Money," I said coldly. "You want Phil to pay us money, Dad?"

"Not us._ You_."

"That seems . . . well, that seems weird." I looked back and forth between them - the two adults in the room - waiting for reason to set in. "Wouldn't that make me like, I dunno, a whore?"

Charlie dropped his mug unto the floor. Miraculously it didn't break; he kind of did, though. He buried his face into his hands and made a terrible honking sob.

"Not at all," Siobhan said calmly, disregarding my father. "He owes a debt to society for breaking the law, Bella. He'll go to prison for it. But what about what he owes to you? Therapy can be expensive."

"Dad?" I ignored her and knelt beside him. "I love you, okay? Don't cry."

"Siobhan c-can help. School and doctors . . . I want y-you to have the best; I can't pay for the best." His deep tenor broke under the strain he bore. The words sounded like they were spoken by a young boy.

"Don't cry, Dad. If you think this is a good idea . . . I'll think about it, okay?"

"I don't know what to think," he blubbered. "He needs to pay . . . I want him to pay."

"Okay. He'll pay." My gut churned. It didn't feel right. "Is there any way at all to avoid a trial? Not for the civil suit - I mean the criminal thingy."

"Only if he pleads guilty. He'd be sentenced without a trial."

I nodded. "So I just need him to plead guilty to . . . something."

"It's unlikely he'll plead guilty with such little evidence," she said softly. "It's not my intention to upset you, Bella, but you need to face reality. Rape is a serious charge."

"Yeah . . . and right now it's just my word against his." My voice sounded sadder than I'd intended.

"You'll make a great witness," Siobhan encouraged me. "Just be honest, and don't hide your emotions. Any jury would be moved by you." She touched the back of my hair - it made me think of Renee, how she'd stroke my hair when I was a little girl . . . before she hated me.

"I'm really," I paused, trying to find the right word before I settled on, "tired."

Siobhan nodded, and my father managed to compose himself, standing up and smoothing the sleeves of his shirt over his arms. "Go to sleep, Bells. We can talk more later tonight or tomorrow. Uh, you know - when you're ready."

I didn't look back at them as I ran up the stairs to my room. The first thing I did upon entering was plug my phone into my iMac. Before I could even load iTunes, my clever fucker of a phone found the application and began syncing.

While it chugged along, I updated my Facebook status and checked my email. Jake had been trying to reach me. I typed out a quick message indicating that I was fine, and I missed him. I mean, I loved Jake - he'd always have a big, bloody chunk of my heart, but I didn't have time to deal with him at the moment.

He replied by pinging me on gchat.

SPlathisdead - omg, did you not read my status? Only ping for porn!

jblack180 - I haz pr0n

SPlathisdead - FUQ

jblack180 - r u ok?

SPlathisdead - Yeeessss! Now leave me alone. I want to go to sleep.

jblack180 - in the middle of the afternoon?

SPlathisdead - *shrugs* I was up all night fucking :P

jblack180 - Ha! Samsies!

SPlathisdead - You dog! Leah? Woot!

jblack180 - I will neither confirm nor deny.

SPlathisdead - that's awesome. I'm happy for you! :D

jblack180 - will you call me? I want to make sure you're okay.

SPlathisdead - I will. Not now tho. Love you, Jake.

jblack180 - love you more.

SPlathisdead - TTYL

I felt like a bit of a shit for being so short with him. I mean, we used to talk about everything. I couldn't do it anymore - Jake could no longer be my secret-keeper. It hurt him too much.

iTunes beeped, and I opened the dialogue box prompting me to sync video with my phone.

Video?

An old AVI file had found its way into my library when I downloaded the new version of iTunes. Without a second thought, I clicked the file and a scream caught in my throat.

Me. Naked and crying. Phil's hulking form bent over me.

"Don't . . . please, don't," the younger version of myself pleaded.

He ignored her.

**A/N - So there's one more chapter of Tomato and then an epi. This story was never meant to be courtroom drama so I hope I didn't mislead anyone. I might write an outtake or two for fandom causes. A reviewer mentioned a Dr. Banner outtake which sounds like fun!**

**I'm working on original fiction and looking for pre-readers. If you're interested, please PM or email me. The story is a dark comedy/fantasy satire.**

**Thank you for buzzing my husband's pants with the last chapter. Please review me and buzz mine? I'll do my best to answer any questions. If you're on twitter, lemme know your twittername so I can bug you.**


	38. Redemption

**A/N - This chapter is brought to you by the letter A and the beta skills of mac and Jkane180. I couldn't have done this story without you guys. This is the final chapter of Tomato. There will be an epilogue.**

Facebook Status: Under Construction.

What the ever-loving fuck?

He thought he was the Swan to my Leda. The truth was more sinister. I was Philomela, still weaving my tapestry - the burden of proof. No, I wasn't Penelope, unravelling the secrets by night to stay faithful to Odysseus.

I was the nightingale that could no longer sing, words cut from my mouth.

Except not really because I totally had a cell phone. I swallowed my nerves and dialed Phil's number, finally completely certain about what I wanted - needed - to feel better. I didn't give a fuck if every impulse and terror I'd ever repressed floated to the surface like a decomposing body in a lake. This cancer would be cut from my psyche now and forever. Whatever the fuck it took.

All of my skeletons were ready to claw their way to the surface.

"Hello . . . Bella?" the voice of my nightmares asked meekly.

"I . . . yeah."

"I've been . . ."

_Yeah, what? You've been what? _"So, yeah . . ." I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, feeling less brash than I had only moments ago.

"You're calling me. I thought that wasn't allowed."

"Probably not," I agreed, scratching my nail over a tiny scab on my knee.

"Fuck, Isabella. I mean . . . fuck! The police were all up in my shit. Why did you tell them about us?" He barked out a laugh. "I know you're mad at your mother . . . but . . . haven't I been good to you? Giving you all that shit you asked for. The computer and the money? I thought things were okay between us."

I made a horking sound in the back of my throat that was meant to be a snort of disgust. "I don't even . . . " My throat burned and tightened, the sound of my pulse whooshing in my ears. "You made me do things I didn't want to do. Horrible, awful things . . . how is that okay?"

"Come on now. I know you weren't always completely into it - us - but I never forced you to-"

"The fuck you didn't!" I screamed.

"Bella?" Charlie yelled, pounding on the door until it shuddered on the frame. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just fighting with Edward," I lied.

"Is everything okay? If that boy's upsetting you-"

"He's not." I forced the warble out of my voice and took a deep breath. "Is the lawyer still here, Dad?" I asked pointedly, my words burning like venom on my tongue.

"I sent her home . . . get off the phone, Bells. Get some rest."

I listened as his footfalls descended the stairs, tapering off into a faint echo. "You still there?" I hissed into the receiver.

"Lawyer? Isabella . . . once this gets out to the papers my career will be over. Whether or not it's true, people will assume the worst."

People always did assume the worst.

"Here's the thing," I said carefully, closing iTunes on my laptop. "I want this in the papers probably less than you do. And I _really_ don't want a trial."

"Yeah?" Phil breathed, the relief in his voice oozing out of my phone. "What're you gonna do?"

"Oh, I'm not doing anything. _You're _going to confess to statutory - which I won't contest. You'll get a slap on the wrist . . . maybe a little jail time and-"

"The fuck I am," he raged. "Do you know what'll happen to me if I do that? It might amuse you to play with my life like this, but if I plead guilty, I'll have to register as a sex offender, Bella. My career - my life - will be over."

A dull rage nipped at my gut, but I quelled it, taking a deep breath. "I'm not amused. Do I sound amused?" Despite my display of sarcastic bravado, my nerves fizzled like fried onions. Water stung my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks in hot rivulets. I burned.

"Why are you doing this to me?" His voice took on a plaintive tone. I remembered asking him the same question myself. The shift in power was palpable.

_Because now it's _my_ turn to fuck _you_ up the ass._

"Because I'm tired of hating myself for stuff that was done to me." I pulled the flash stick out of my laptop and closed my palm around it. "How long were you videotaping us?"

"Huh?"

"The video files you so thoughtfully left on my laptop before shipping it to me. Why did you do that?"

"Isabella . . . I love you, baby. I . . ."

"You what, asshole?" I choked, my stomach spewing hot lava into my chest cavity.

"I wanted you to remember me - us. It wasn't always bad, was it? Didn't you love me a little?"

"No," I said easily. "I honestly don't. I want to be clear about it because I don't want you to think I'm letting you off the hook out of kindness. I'm doing it for myself, not you."

"What do you mean?" He sounded defeated.

"Blackmail."

"Huh? You want money. Jesus, babe, I'll give you more money. Anything you want!"

"No. I don't want your money anymore, Phil. You stole four years from me, so the only thing you have to barter with is time. I'll take it in trade."

"So you're blackmailing me . . . for time?"

"Yeah. You're going to confess to statutory - to having a _consensual_ sexual relationship with me from the time I was fourteen to now." The word "consensual" felt like sulphur on my tongue. Like brimstone - heavy and blasphemous. "You'll tell the cops we had relations of a sexual nature continuously for four years while I was underage. You'll do this," I insisted, my palm hot and clammy around the file that could condemn him, "or I'll share these videos with the DA."

Phil stopped breathing. Well, no, but his pause was totally pregnant. While waiting for him to speak, I fell back into my bed and thought of Edward. He had this light patch of freckles on the bridge of his nose I wanted to kiss. I bet he'd let me kiss any part of him I wanted.

"Do you hate me and your mother that much, Isabella? You know this will destroy her."

"I don't care."

"I can't-"

"You have two days," I told him, because it felt apt to attach a ticking bomb element to my offer. "If you don't confess by Thursday, I'm emailing a file to the Maricopa County police."

"Wait, don't!"

_No . . . please, don't!_

I cut the line. He never listened to me when I begged either.

-({})-

After the confrontation with Phil, time - which always inched by at a snail's pace for me - flew like a hummingbird on amphetamines. First of all, the asshole conceded, sending me a coward's text that he'd confess to statutory. Like he was doing me a favour.

Like I left him any choice.

Charlie wasn't pleased that I corroborated his story. He knew I was totally lying, that I just didn't want to deal with the shit storm that would follow. In the end, it would always be my word against his, and I didn't have the grace or eloquence to appeal to a jury . . . or even the proper persona of a victim for that matter. I mean, I watched enough TV to know that rape victims didn't typically go around making light of what happened to them. They weren't brash or slutty or needlessly crude.

Dr. Banner insisted there's no wrong way to be an abuse survivor. I wasn't sure if I agreed, but I repeated it to myself in the mirror every morning like a Stuart Smiley mantra.

_I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, my mother's husband raped me._

In the days following, I spent a lot of time by myself, skipping school and not answering my texts or tweets or emails or pokes or Facebook comments. When my cell phone actually rang rather than pinged, I stared at it for several minutes before remembering what to do.

"Yeah?"

"Bella!" Edward sounded shocked to hear my voice. "Come back to school, baby. I miss you so fucking much."

"Who is this?" I drawled.

"Nice."

"I miss you too. I don't miss Forks High, though. Can't you just come over and fuck me instead?"

"I thought we were taking things slow?" He exhaled a long breath.

"Are you high?"

"That's what you said! C'mon, pretty girl, I'm getting mixed signals here," he complained, his voice cracking into a whine.

"No, are _you _high? Like, are you smoking weed?"

"Oh . . . yeah. Do you mind?"

"Only that you're not sharing," I grumbled, sniffing my arm pit to discern the rank factor. "I've been wallowing in my own shit for a few days now. I could use an herbal remedy."

A female voice giggled in the background.

"You're not alone." It was an accusation of sorts.

"It's just Rosalie!" Edward supplied before I could freak out.

"Isn't that cozy? So you're hanging out with Rose instead of me. Nice. You know she won't even speak to me, right?"

"What are you talking about? She's been emailing you non-stop for the last three days about her and Emmett. What the fuck is going on with you?" He exhaled almost violently.

"Fuck you," I said half-heartedly.

"I love you. I miss you . . . let me sniff your hair."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to sniff Rosalie's crotch hair, but then I thought better of it. I trusted him, and my three-day exile was self imposed.

Yeah, I was acting like an emo twat - the worst kind of pussy.

"Come over, please. I need you," I told him, biting my lip in agitation. I sounded pathetic.

"I've been waiting for you to tell me that." He breathed out a languid breath, and while it was probably infused with smoke, it sounded like relief.

-({})-

Charlie passed me a beer while I sat with him in the kitchen waiting for Edward.

"Really, Dad?" I mean, not to kick a gift horse in the balls or anything. I tipped the long neck of the bottle into my mouth.

"Are you questioning my parenting skills?" His eyebrows quirked in a way that was almost comical.

"Of course not. All the best fathers feed their kids beer."

"Meh, you've been through enough bullshit. If you want to drink beer, I won't stop you."

"I love you, Daddy," I said like a valley girl.

Charlie nodded and stood, adjusting his holster, his heavy boots making the old wood floor scream out in protest under their weight. "I'm going to work. Will you be okay alone tonight?"

"Edward's coming over for a bit; I'll be fine."

He nodded. "No hanky panky while I'm away."

"Of course not," I promised, giving the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper."

"We _will_ talk about this again," he offered by way of non-sequitur.

"Star Trek?"

"Bella," he kind of growled, shrugging his uniform jacket over his shoulders, "the lawsuit. Look, I know you're not willing to testify, but since he's already confessed, Siobhan thinks she can get him to settle."

"I don't want his money." I took a long pull of my beer to keep from lashing out at my father.

"It'll pay for school."

"I'd rather not go."

Charlie opened his mouth to argue, but I was saved by the knock on the door. "Is that lover boy?"

"I call him Sex-hair . . . but yes."

He opened the door and asked, "Why does my daughter call you Sex-hair?"

Edward's mouth gaped, his jaw slacked, and his eyes widened as Charlie grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He looked like a fish, dying on a hook.

"It's because I like to pull his hair while we're having sex - no, I'm totally kidding. Please don't shoot him, Dad." I cackled.

"Don't make me get the gardening shears." The growl that accompanied his threat made me realize he might not have been joking.

"Jesus fuck," Edward swore; he was probably still high.

"I don't really call him that, Dad. His hair is really messy is all. I swear, he's never done anything to hurt me." I smiled wickedly, tugging Charlie away from my boyfriend. "There's more chance of me raping him than him raping me."

"Bella!" they both snapped, staring at me with matching angry glares, their hands on their hips.

Edward resembled a Bazzaro World, ginger version of my father.

"Huh . . . okay, things just got a little weird."

-({})-

"I'm not like your father!" Edward protested for the fifth time.

"It's sweet." I shrugged, leaning back against his chest. We were watching True Blood, and I think he was totally jealous about my crush on vampire Eric. "And that Viking is so fucking hot!" I mock-swooned and rubbed my nipples over my shirt.

"Stop it!" He covered my eyes with his hand, and I giggled. "What was your dad bugging you about when I arrived?"

"Nothing. Want a blow job?"

"Yes. And don't change the subject."

"Well, I can't very well talk while my mouth's full . . . it wouldn't be polite."

"So talk first," he insisted, grabbing my hand before I could palm his dick.

"He wants me to sue Phil," I told him, crawling down his body. Even with one of my hands restrained, I was pretty sure I could undo his fly with my teeth. My skills were mad and shit.

"I really think you should. I don't understand why you're letting him get away with just a statutory charge." He grabbed my hair and tugged lightly, forcing me to look at him. "You do realize I fully intend to kill him one day."

I sighed and nuzzled my face back into his crotch. "He's not worth you going to jail for. And I have no interest in his money."

"What do you mean? Your father wants you to sue him for money?"

"Yep. A civic suit."

"Fuck that," Edward spat, surprising me so much I lifted my head away from my favourite apex in the universe.

"Guh?"

"You can't take money from him . . . that would be like him buying his redemption from you or something. It's sick."

"Yes!" I agreed, grateful someone finally understood my point of view. "It's like, even if he gave me a shit ton of money, anything I used it for would be tainted." Oh, shit . . . I should probably get rid of my computer since _he_ paid for it. Damn.

"You don't need his money."

"Well, I do - we're kinda poor. But I'm not going to take it."

"Come here," he whispered, his voice becoming rough. And then before I could move, he tugged at my arms, lifting me over his body until we were eye-level, my hair falling around his face. "I'm so fucking proud of you."

"Really?" What an odd thing to say. Oh! Those nose freckle things I loved so much were in licking distance. I stuck out my tongue to capture one, but his mouth absorbed me before I could do anything.

And then we were both moaning and kissing and clawing at each other. His hand slipped inside the back of my pants, squeezing my ass as I pushed my pussy against his erection.

"We shouldn't," I said, tugging my shirt over my head while he undid my jeans. "It's bad for your recovery."

"Fuck my recovery. "

"Okay," I agreed, lowering his briefs and jerking his dick, all hot and smooth, in my hand. "Can I suck it?"

"Yeah, but do it with your pussy."

I perched above his towering erection, remembering the trip my family took to the Washington Monument when I was a kid. Charlie and Renee were still together, and I didn't know what it was like to be depressed or scared or violated or alone.

Edward's cock was like a monument to my lost childhood. That was disgusting and wrong and kind of perfect.

"Your cock is my happy place." I smiled, easing him inside of me. He held my hips softly, stilling me when he was fully seated.

"You're my happy place, Bella."

I groaned and lifted off of him only to grind back down harder.

"How do you feel?" Even hooded in lust, his eyes were so compassionate.

"Open and happy and loved," I moaned.

"You are, pretty girl. So loved."

Was it weird that I could enjoy this? That I could fuck my boyfriend without guilt or shame or fear? Dr. Banner's voice echoed in my head: _There's no wrong way to be a rape survivor._

Because there really wasn't. I couldn't tie years of abuse into a neat bow, find closure, and heal perfectly.

Deep cuts produce scars. But scars didn't define me.

And sure, Edward and I probably shouldn't be together. We should probably give each other space and time to become fully formed, healthy adults. But as my orgasm hit me, my cunt shuddering around his awesome dick, the epiphany I'd been searching for finally washed over me, the high water-mark, the place where the waves rolled back and receded tore through me.

I never gave a fuck about doing things the right way, and I was a teenage girl in love with a boy who loved her too.

We could love each other, because love is a choice you make. And I chose Edward.

The rest would get better with time.

**A/N - I'm a little emotional right now and I have too many people to thank to do it properly. I'll post a proper note on the epi. Thank you so much - all of you wonderful people who took the time to review or tweet or message me about Tomato. I'm not always perfect at responding, not because I'm a bitch but because I'm a flake with too much stuff on my plate.**

**There's no wrong way to be a rape survivor.**

**Flanny xoxo**

**PS - I'm writing a blow job outtake for a belated B-day present to Magnolia. I'll send a copy of it to everyone who reviews the last chapter. Give me another week to write it.**

**Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!**


	39. Outtake Kill Phil!

**This is not the epilogue; it's an outtake, dream, alternative ending of Tomato. Written originally for Mal's compilation. I love Mal, and I'm so happy she got her happy ending!**

**Synopsis: Stigmata Tomato Bella is out for vengeance and goes samurai on Phil's sorry ass. **

**WARNING: NC-17 as this chapter includes some very graphic violence (against Phil), sex, and drug use. **

**Disclaimer: All references to Twilight, Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, and Natural Born Killers belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N - Huge love to mac for beta'ing this, and to catonspeed for the awesome banner (I've pasted a link to the banner on my profile). I couldn't have written this very well without either of these ladies. Kill Phil is not an epilogue to Stigmata Tomato, but a dream sequence or AU ending.**

Facebook Status: Samurais are the new pink.

We stumble and scream and fight and fuck. And we hunger for blood, vengeance like human flesh on our putrid, zombified tongues.

Will I be satisfied with his head on my mantle? Will I stop screaming at night when my katana slices through his meaty neck?

Or will I die a little on the other end of the sword?

There's no time for regret.

I won't sleep. Not until his cock is hammered to my cross.

-({})-

"Wiggle your big toe." My voice didn't sound like my own - it was harsher, grittier somehow.

"Huh?"

I groaned, my entire body stiff. Shit, how long had I been asleep? "Wiggle your big toe!" I repeated, the sounds in the small car echoing like I was at the bottom of a well.

"Me?" Edward asked, tearing his eyes away from the road to watch me pound my foot against the dashboard.

"No, me. My fucking foot is asleep. Or I totally had a stroke. Not sure which." I rubbed my calf, trying to summon blood flow back into my dead foot. "Where are we?"

"The desert." He shrugged, motioning toward the rock and sand that yawned lazily around us through the windshield. Nothing, nothing, nothing - an empty panorama of violent reds and oranges. Oh, wait . . . I was wearing sunglasses. The desert wasn't red at all.

Rose-tinted, my ass. More like bathed in blood.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. What town?" I hadn't meant for my tone to be so acrid. To atone, I rested my hand on his crotch, splaying my fingers, so I could cup his balls affectionately.

"Uh, I'm not sure." He swallowed, hands gripping the wheel while his dick sprang to life, becoming solid under my touch. At least I'd managed to encourage blood flow in one extremity. "I stopped paying attention after Barstow. Want me to pull over so you can give me head?"

"We can't stop here, silly. This is bat country."

"Cute." Edward smirked.

"Is this the painted desert?" I asked, watching the way the hot sun refracted rainbows off his silver fly. His dick was ensconced in technicolour, and I, blinded by its beauty.

"I don't think so. I'm pulling over, okay?" He lowered the zipper, parting the teeth with an aching and psychotic slowness, and he cocked his head and his dick in my direction; I swear, they both winked.

"So I can blow you?"

"Yeah, that . . . also, I gotta see a man about a sword."

"A horse, you mean."

"No, Bella - a sword."

"Why a sword?"

"Because," he gasped as I sucked the head of his dick into my mouth, his skin hot and slightly bitter with come. I felt the thick vein that ran along the back of his cock pulse over my tongue as I pulled him back into my throat, breathing carefully through my nose. He smelled like summer and sweat and my bedsheets. He tasted like home, the musk, and salt somehow sweet.

I hummed my question._ Because why?_ My tongue inquired against his glans, fist pumping the base of his dick.

A shallow intake of air and a wheezing grunt was his only response. His fingers laced in my hair, hips rising off the seat, so he could gain deeper access to my mouth. My jaw slackened, and I breathed slowly so as not to choke.

But Edward never made me gag. Even when he fucked my throat, he was gentle.

"Marry me," he groaned as he came, all hot, wet salt on the back of my tongue.

I swallowed him down and protested, "You did not just do that."

"Marry me," he repeated, pushing my hair out of my face. "I'm serious."

"You just jizzed in my mouth, you asshole. That's no way to propose marriage. Besides, we're too young. And I don't have a ring." My hand wandered around his thigh and settled between his ass cheeks, tight against the seat. "Unless you want to slip your brown eye on my finger."

"I don't think I'd mind it." He grinned and licked my nose.

"You're a sick fuck."

"A sick fuck who wants to marry you."

I shook my head. "Don't distract me . . . just do what you gotta do. I want my katana."

He kissed me and opened the door. "I'll be back in three shakes of a lamb's tail."

"Huh. I swear I've heard that line somewhere before." I watched his butt flex as he walked away. "Why a sword, though? I mean, we could've just jacked a shotgun from Charlie."

"Have you ever shot a gun?"

"No. I've also never sliced anyone's head off with a sword."

"You've had combat training in karate," he explained, zipping his fly.

"Yeah, but I'm a green belt, not Uma Thurman. I'm also ridiculously clumsy and slow."

"That's why I'll be hiding in the bushes with this." He reached down the side of his jeans and frowned.

"You'll be hiding with your dick in your hands?"

"Where did I leave my gun?" He patted his pockets.

"Oy vey."

-({})-

I'd fallen asleep in the sand, dreaming of butterflies. My arms rose above my head in a feline stretch, and I looked up at the sky, now a burnt crimson.

What time was it? How long had I been asleep?

"Edward," I called. I thought I saw him in the distance, his silhouette set ablaze by the setting sun.

A hissing sound replied. I'd taken the peyote I'd bought back in Bakersfield while Edward ran his errand thingy. He'd said there was some guy in the desert who sold real katanas, and that shit was just cool. I mean, it wasn't like we had a plan or anything.

Other than to kill Phil.

But anything worth doing right was worth doing brutally.

"Here kitty, kitty," I simpered as a viper dragged its body sluggishly over the sand, hissing out a broken sound and coiling along a rock. Skin like chainmaille, molting slightly at the narrow tail, it rattled in time with my heart.

Hallucinations were neat.

"Do you know my thoughts?" I asked, imagining a juicy rat. She looked hungry, and those eyes like black pearls - they stared back at me in quiet understanding. Maybe she'd been hurt, too. Maybe she could teach me about vengeance.

The air around me shuddered.

"Don't be sad, pretty girl. I understand you."

"Holy shit," Edward bleated. "That's a fucking rattler." With clumsy hands he unsheathed a half-parabola shaped blade, gripping the handle with both fists.

"Shhhh. Don't frighten her." I lowered my hand to the ground and clicked my tongue, beckoning her forward. "And dude, you're so ninja right now it's not even funny.

"Please . . . just step away, okay?"

Well, jeez, I was the one who was high, and now Edward was all paranoid and shit. Maybe he developed a contact trip.

"She's a pussycat, baby. She's lonely."

I crawled over the sand, inching my way closer as she uncoiled.

A brutal, burning pain stabbed through my arm, and I screamed.

"You knew I was a snake, bitch," she sang, twisting and springing forward again.

-({})-

"You are one lucky girl," a fuzzy-browed doctor said with half-concealed disdain. "The anti-venom is working. Just in time, too." He chuckled, and I mashed my gummy lips together. "Another few minutes, and you'll be right as rain."

A precipitation simile in the desert? There was a special kind of hell for people who forced ironic turns of phrases on others.

"Excuse me while I laugh," I jeered and promptly vomited on Dr. Caterpillar-brow's shoes. Edward stifled a giggle that might have also been a sob.

"Nurse!" the doctor called, gagging like he was going to lose his lunch, too.

"Sorry about your shoes, dude. But I gotta tell you - I'm feeling a shitload better now."

Edward paced around the bed, glancing toward the exit of the ER. "How long until she's discharged?"

"Discharge." I snickered under my breath, repeating and rolling the word over my tongue.

"I'd like to admit her overnight for general observation - to make sure she doesn't suffer any adverse effects from the poison."

"No!" I shot upright, swinging my feet over the edge of the cot. "I can't! I have this thing . . . uh, I'm supposed to . . ." kill Phil.

"We're on our way to Vegas," Edward interjected, the corner of his lip hooking into a wicked, lopsided grin. "To elope."

"That's sweet." Dr. Fuzzy-brow smiled and scribbled onto my chart. "Know what would be sweeter? If she doesn't die."

"Nice bedside manner," I grumbled.

He closed the curtain around the bed, and Edward collapsed by my feet.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"You could've died." He pulled my foot into his lap and dug his fingers into my arches. "Were you trying to?"

"No! I was trying to . . . I don't know. Just make it all go away." I pressed my skull against the stiff pillow and sighed. "I want . . ."

"What, pretty girl? Anything."

"I want Phil not to be alive."

He smiled and went to work on my other foot, massaging exactly where it ached most. Somehow, he always knew where I held my pain.

"I wish you'd let me do it."

"No. Phil's mine." A cold satisfaction climbed up my spine. My anger no longer burned as it once had. My need for vengeance kept me cool, polarizing my thoughts. "It's going to be gruesome," I warned him.

"I know, baby. Do it slowly."

-({})-

I'd left my shoes in the car in my haste, and the yellowing lawn scratched against the soles of my feet. I took slow strides, katana raised proudly at my hip. As I crept closer to the side of the house, I almost mourned my lack of a firearm - I could see him lying on the ground, lounging in a lawn chair.

Shit, it would've been cleaner, easier, especially if we'd had a silencer. He'd never have seen me coming, and it could've been over so quickly.

But the sword would be more intimate, crueler.

The closest house was a good sixty feet away, and Phil and Renee weren't friendly people, so hopefully I didn't have to worry about a random visit.

And Edward would be waiting, poised to shoot if anything went wrong. I hoped he had good aim.

The drought-ridden grass gave way to bare rock and dirty sand. Renee never could be bothered with tending to the yard, and having delusions of maintaining a green lawn was just plain dumb when you lived in a desert climate.

First thing was first. I sheathed my sword and crossed it over my back, securing it easily with my belt. I lowered onto my hands and knees, crawling over rock and sand, my sword bobbing on my back. I could see Edward's red hair over the sparse bush along the property; it really didn't provide much cover.

Should I take him by surprise? Immobilize him with a superficial wound?

No. I wanted him to know it was my blade that tore through him. I wanted to look into his eyes without mercy and watch him die.

I stood, brushing the sand off my knees, and sauntered over to him.

The asshole grinned, happy to see me. "Love the outfit, Isabella. It's hot. I think I'd prefer the Japanese schoolgirl getup with the sword, though. Like that little slut from _Sucker Punch_." He sat up, a tent forming in his khaki shorts. "Put the sword away, sweetness. I've got something long for you right here."

"Is that right?" I swallowed the bile in my throat and lowered onto the edge of his chair. He smelled like beer and pungent aftershave. Some nights I still woke up from terrors, screaming, battling the weight on top of me and gagging on the reek of his cologne. I swore, it still had lingered in the air.

"Renee's not home." His meaty hand crept up my thigh.

"I'm counting on that."

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming for a visit? Last I heard, you wanted nothing to do with us." His fingers bit into my leg, and I let out a strangled squeak.

"Don't."

He relented on the pressure but didn't let go. "You need me, sweetness. Don't I take such good care of my baby girl?"

I shook my head, forcing myself to look at him. "I've come to fuck you. Full penetration. You've teased me for long enough, Phil. I need it all the way inside."

He licked his lips. "Oh yeah? I suppose that can be arranged. You _are_ all grown up now. Where do you want it, baby?"

"You really _do_ think I want it, huh?" My eyes burned, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. This was _my_ day. Mine. I wasn't about to turn into a victim.

Never again.

"I know you want it, you little slut. You've been jocking for my dick ever since your perky, little tits came in."

He just made this shit so much easier. "Let me see it." My hand reached behind my back, fingers wrapping tightly on the bamboo handle of my sword.

"Go ahead and take it, Isabella." He lowered his shorts and pulled his erection out of his briefs.

"Close your eyes, Phil. I'm gonna give you a kiss."

He did, and I unsheathed my blade. "Ready for it inside?"

He nodded, his eyelids trembling.

"Keep them closed," I sang. "I really want you to feel this."

The katana slid off my back, and as I swung it forward, everything seemed to slow down. My heart pounded in my chest, and at first, I heard nothing but the whooshing of my blood pulsing in my ears. Before Phil could scream, the wet sound of his stomach tearing filled the air as the smooth blade slid into his belly.

His eyes opened, wide with surprise, and he tilted his head as if confused, following my gaze down to his gut. A scream finally erupted from him, high-pitched and keening, as I turned the handle, pulling it out slowly.

Blood splattered across my face with the withdrawal of my weapon.

"Does it feel so good inside, baby," I mocked.

"Holy shit . . . you did it," Edward said from several feet away. "I wasn't sure you would."

I grinned at him. "Oh, ye of little faith. Do you have the bandages, or do you have to go back to the car?"

"Yeah." He lifted a small while briefcase, not making any attempt to step forward. "I have them."

Phil made this awful choking sound, like he needed to vomit but didn't have the strength. His head tilted to the side and his mouth opened, a foamy, white substance oozing out and bubbling with his breaths.

Shallow and quick, he gasped convulsively. I bet he died liked he fucked.

"Bandage him up," I said over my shoulder, and Edward finally spurred into action.

"Phil, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Edward. Edward, Phil."

Edward replied by punching his nose, a sickening crunch of bone echoing through the yard immediately followed by a sob.

"You might consider me sadistic, Phil. But I assure you - this is masochism at its finest."

"Why?" he managed to gurgle.

"Why what, _sweetness_? Why the bandages? Because I don't want you to bleed out and die too quickly."

Phil blubbered and retched as Edward covered his stomach a towel, the white cloth turning crimson within seconds of its application. Edward moved it to the side, just as a sausage-like tube of flesh popped out of the wound. "You're gonna have to be quick, pretty girl. No bandage will hold this mess together. His intestines are pushing through, so I can't bandage him closed."

"Shit . . . this wasn't supposed to be fast at all." I stroked Phil's cheek and smiled. "You always liked to take things slow, didn't you, _baby_? And here I am being all merciful and shit." My hand lowered to his lap. "You're skin's so hot. I bet I could fry an egg on it, couldn't I?"

Tears coursed down my face, and it pissed me the fuck off. I wasn't supposed to cry. I was supposed to cut his dick off and make him eat it, but he was already half-dead; there was no glory in torturing a dead man.

I felt Edward place his hand on the small of my back; I flinched.

"End it," he pleaded.

"He doesn't deserve a quick death." I wanted to wipe the snot out of my face, but my hand was painted in Phil's blood.

"Not for him, for you."

Phil's chest seemed to swell as he heaved. "Call . . . hospital. Please," he moaned. "You . . . don't have to-"

The tendons in my wrist fluttered as my fingers tightened around the handle of my blade. "I am a samurai."

"Look," he managed. "I know I fucked you over. I fucked you over bad. I wish to God I hadn't, but I did. You have every right to want to get even."

"You don't know what regret means. Well, maybe you do . . . a little bit." I lowered the blade to his dick and sliced through it like a salami, half his member falling into the grass. "That's what Japanese steel can do, _baby_."

Phil vomited in earnest now, thrashing in his chair so violently another few inches of intestine coiled through the gash in his stomach.

Edward wrapped his arms around me, and I sobbed, watching the man I hated more than anything, the man who took four years of my life for his pleasure, beg for his death. The rapist didn't want to live without his pecker.

But I didn't want to watch him die either. So I did the cruelest thing I could think of.

"Let's go." I dropped the sword beside Phil's fallen manhood. "I'm done here."

"But . . . he's still alive," Edward protested.

"Yeah," I agreed. "But I got what I needed. Let's call an ambulance."

"He'll tell the police, Bella; we can't just let him live."

"He won't. I have a video on my computer that will ensure his silence."

"But..."

I grabbed Edward's hand. "It's fine. I've beheaded the snake. It's over. Let's pick up a disposable cell and call an ambulance, okay?"

He nodded and lumbered away from Phil's now unconscious form. "Right . . . okay."

"We're fine," I soothed.

"Yeah." He wrapped an arm around me and kissed my head, the heat of his lips lingering on my skin.

"Hey, Sex-hair?"

"Yeah, pretty girl?"

"I've always wanted to be married by Elvis. Care to take a detour to Vegas on the way home?"

**A/N - thanks for reading! The epilogue will be posted next week :) Reviews are the new purple!**


	40. Epilogue part one

**A/N - this is the first epilogue. There will be a second. Thank you so much to Nicole and everyone who supported me as I wrote Tomato. Big love and all that shit. This is Dr. Banner's POV**

Linkedin Status: Not all turnips are evil. Buy my book to find out why.

I used to look at Bella and think about Sarah - my daughter - what I'd do to protect her if, god forbid, she'd been in her shoes. It was only a passing terror, and one I couldn't allow myself to linger on and remain objective.

Truth be told, I've never been what one would call a conventional therapist. But fuck convention. If I managed to help Bella find her voice, to look her demon in the eye and tell him she wouldn't let him hurt her anymore, then it didn't matter. Yeah, sure the road to her recovery was pocked with plot holes, er, potholes, but those were the bumps and grinds of outrageous fortune. Or whatever it was that Shakespeare once said. (I was too busy studying psychology and getting blowjobs in college to pay much attention to the Bard.)

What I meant to say (wait, this is an internal monologue... what I meant to think? No, that's not correct, either.) was that from our first session together, I knew she was a survivor.

Edward, on the other hand, would've been lost without her. I didn't think that to be mean, but the kid circled her like a satellite. _Juliet is the earth__, and Romeo is the moon. _

"Your proximity is infecting me with Shakespeare," I accused in lieu of a more conventional greeting.

"You're quoting it wrong, I'm sure." She smirked.

"Indeed. Your Facebook status this morning was very enlightening by the way. I believe a congratulations is in order?"

"Oh my god. Can we not talk about it? Also, speaking of statuses, what the fuck is with your obsession with turnips? I mean, they're like the potato's inbred cousin." Bella tugged at the zipper of her coat, frowning as it snagged half-way down on a piece of material. "Shit."

"I take it you haven't bought my book yet?" I contemplated helping her with her jacket, but it had been five months since we'd last met, and I wasn't sure what her boundaries were these days. Before she and Edward left for college, she'd shown a marked improvement in managing physical contact without having a stress reaction, but I'd learned not to make assumptions.

"Meh, I'll find a PDF online. Why spend good money on something that used to be available for free?"

"Touché."

"Look, can we not talk about your book on my dime?"

"I don't charge you anymore, Bella." I handed her my book. The cover depicted a girl's hands holding a turnip. "In any case, I'd like you to read it."

She grinned the evil yet disarming grin she'd perfected since the first time we met. "I'm honoured. My opinion matters to you?"

"Nah. I could use the reviews over on Goodreads."

"You're such a whore." She laughed, throwing her head back, easy and natural - something I wasn't used to seeing from her. "Seriously, though, I'm totally proud of you and stuff."

"Likewise." I grunted in surprise as she tackled me, her arms wrapping around my torso. "This isn't awkward at all."

"You're awesome, Dr. Banner."

"You haven't even read my book yet."

"No." She swatted me and wiped her face with her hand. "I don't even have the words... I feel like I wouldn't have accomplished even half of what I did if it weren't for you. Shit, I don't mean to get all emotional here."

"That's right. Therapy is no place for emotions." I pulled a turnip out of my pocket and handed it to her.

"And here I was thinking you were just happy to see me." She dropped the turnip onto the floor and proceeded to burst into tears.

"I'm pretty sure it's not bruised," I offered, making no move to comfort her.

"Fuck you and your stupid tuber."

_Is a turnip a tuber?_

"That's perverse, Bella. I don't fuck vegetables. Well... maybe once."

"Shut the fuck up, Banner! I'm freaking out over here."

"I'm sorry. Maybe you should try speaking to a therapist about it."

She retrieved the turnip and tossed it, narrowly missing my head.

"I don't think I can do this." She lowered her face into her hands and proceeded to bawl, honking like a rabid goose.

I pursed my lips to avoid saying something sarcastic. Bella and I always communicated in a strange language marked by snark and innuendo. It could be difficult to decipher if I crossed the line into malpractice.

"Get married?" I asked, keeping my tone soft.

She shook her head. "Nah... I'm ready to marry Sex-hair."

"What then?"

"It's the little Sex-hair I'm not ready for." She blew her nose into her sleeve and then rubbed her abdomen. "How am I supposed to be somebody's mother? I'm not self-actualized yet."

"Oh, Bella." I sat beside her on the proverbial (and literal) couch, offering her the sleeve of my cardigan. "No one is _ever _ready. How can you be ready for something you have no experience with? The best you can be is prepared."

"How is that different?" She scowled.

"Ready implies an emotional maturity; prepared implies you have all the gadgets that go along with parenthood."

"I don't have Kleenex. Mothers carry that kind of shit in their pockets. Fuck, I mean... I've never even changed a diaper."

"You'll be great," I said, frowning at the trail of mucus she left on my sweater.

"What the fuck are you basing that on?"

I shrugged. "The fact you care. That you're concerned about being a good mother at all. You're a better person than you give yourself credit for, Bella."

"I suck."

It pissed me off she believed that. For all of her odd behaviours she was kind of spectacular. "You don't. Considering your role models, you're a fucking saint."

"How am I gonna tell Edward?" Her teeth assaulted her lower lip, and she took her phone out of her pocket.

"Don't you dare do it over Facebook!"

"You're no fun." She pouted.

"You seriously haven't told him yet?" I wasn't sure if she had been kidding, but she shook her head.

"Nope... he's gonna shit a brick when he finds out. I mean, that's only fair since I'm gonna shit a baby out of my cooter."

"Oy vey."

"Indeed."

"Edward will be..." I wanted to tell her "happy," but that definitely wasn't the right word. The kid was smart and in love and absolutely not ready to be a parent.

First off, he was still dealing with his obsessive compulsive tendencies; however, his previous therapist had grossly misdiagnosed him as a sexual compulsive. Edward was just a horny teenager with obsessive tendencies, in my opinion.

"Don't lie to me, Banner."

"Okay," I agreed. "Edward will shit a brick, you'll poop a kid, and you'll all live happily ever after."

"For serious?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"You'll be fine," I told her. I was pretty sure I wasn't lying.

-({})-

Isabella Swan's Facebook Status: Hey, (at)Edward A. Cullen. You're gonna be a father. Love you and stuff.

10 people like this comment.

Edward A. Cullen commented: the fuck?

Isabella Swan: uh... surprise?

Edward A. Cullen: Not funny.

Isabella Swan: Totally not trying to be.

Charlie Swan: I'm cleaning my shotgun.

Isabella Swan: omfg! You're such a drama queen, Dad. We're already getting married.

Charlie Swan: Now I know why... fuck me. (at)BillyBlack did you catch all that? I'm grabbing a case of beer and heading there for the weekend. I can't take this shit.

Billy Black: Congratulations, Grandpa Swan!

Charlie Swan: Fuck you.

Edward A. Cullen: I think I'm gonna be sick.

**A/N - Big fucking love! The second, much longer epi is donated to Nokidhungry. Google or find it on twitter for more information. A small donation will get you the second epi along with a compilation of some great fic! I'll post it at the end of the summer.**

**Other stuff: I'm a Project Team Beta smut u professor. Don't forget to register for school on the PTB site.**

**I have an entry in the Fic this Gif contest. It's anon. Read and review all of them :) If you know my writing well enough, you might be able to pick mine out of the group.**

**Jo and I are donating an outtake of Penal Code for Fandon4LLS.**

**I'm hard at work on my original fiction and outlining a collab with my friend and peer-reviewer, Nicole. Thank you, Nicole. Without you, Tomato would have been a grammatical mess. Thank you Jessica, Candace, Lucy, AJ, Tina and Amanda for your help and support. **

**Thank you to all my friends on Twitter.**

**Chat with me on Twitter any time! I'm (at)BellaFlan**

**Your reviews and thoughts are all adored by me. Please make my phone vibrate!**


	41. Epilogue part two

**A/N Second epilogue - Future Take of Stigmata Tomato. Bella and Edward deal with an unplanned pregnancy while trying to resolve their respective personality disorders. Falling in love is easy; staying together is work.**

**Beta'd by Mac and pre-read by Meranaamjoker**

Facebook Status: American cheese can suck my dick

_10 Weeks_

"But I want it," I moaned.

"Please, Bella?" Sex-hair begged, swatting me away.

"I need it! Give it to me."

A casual observer might think I was begging for sex; I wasn't. I wanted Cheez Whiz. Yes, that terrible orange crap in the jar or spray can. I didn't care that it was four in the morning. The bastard had knocked me up with his demon seed... the least he could do was satisfy my unorthodox cravings.

"Jesus fuck!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" I kicked him in the thigh somewhat playfully, rolling onto my back. The sheets were wet with sweat - both of ours - and I couldn't silence the paranoid thoughts in my head. They chirped like plaintive crickets. "We can't keep swearing like college students and shit. What kind of parents would we be?"

"The college student kind." He sighed, hefting his arm over my belly and lowering his cheek to my puffy abdomen. His skin felt warm against mine, his jaw rough with stubble. I stared at the top of his head, running my fingers through his hair. God he looked good - all shaggy and sexy.

"You should get a fucking haircut," I spat, and he frowned. I had no idea why I just said that. I mean, not even two seconds ago I'd been lusting after the crazy mop on his head. "I didn't mean that."

"Okay," he replied, eyeing me like I was a lunatic - a fair assessment. He rolled over to face me, traversing the landscape of our small bed as if landmines hid under the blankets.

In truth, the only thing explosive was me - my temper and maybe my colon. What? Don't judge. Pregnancy is fucking disgusting.

"I love you, Edward. I do," I managed between sobs. "I just really need some fucking Cheez Whiz, or I might kill someone. Maybe you. I don't want that on my conscience."

He grumbled and retrieved a pair of hygienically ambiguous jeans off the floor. I'd had issues with doing laundry lately. Actually, I had issues with getting off my fat ass and doing just about anything besides going to class, eating, and being sick to my stomach. I guess I wasn't one of those women who flourished during pregnancy. The whole experience was pretty disgusting if you asked me... which no one did.

I had a tendency to overshare.

-({})-

When Edward returned from the store I burst into tears.

"Holy fuck, Bella! You gotta stop it with this shit."

"Watch your fucking mouth!" I sobbed.

"What's wrong?" He opened the jar of Cheez Whiz and offered me a spoon.

"It's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen... I don't know what I was thinking."

He frowned and sniffed the jar - just watching him do it made my stomach lurch into my throat.

"I think I'm gonna be sick." I groaned, bitter saliva flooding my mouth.

"So I guess that means sex is out of the question?"

-({})-

Facebook Status: _13 Weeks and one day_

I couldn't breathe.

My knees buckled, and I dropped to the cold bathroom floor, crying out for help.

Red, red, red streaks on my white cotton underwear.

-({})-

Facebook Status: We're okay

_13 Weeks and two days_

Edward's freckles were more blatant than usual against the pale canvas of his face. I took his hand, both of us shaking.

"It's because I didn't want her." My voice was cold. I sounded like Renee.

"Don't talk like that," Edward snapped. "She's fine. We're fine."

He'd been saying that all morning. Leonard Cohen sang "Hallelujah" in my mind, his prayer indeed cold and broken.

_She's fine. We're fine. We've had enough bad shit happen; God wouldn't do this to us._

Edward believed in God. I didn't, but that didn't stop me from praying.

"We can try again," I whispered. "If we lose her... we can try-"

"Stop," he hissed, burying his face into my shoulder. My shirt dampened, and he whispered that strange prayer: "God help us, she's fine. We're fine."

I mussed up his hair. "It's okay, baby. No matter what."

"She's fine," he repeated, a robot with a single-minded directive.

_Maybe she is fine. My abdomen doesn't really hurt. Where the fuck is the doctor?_

-({})-

Facebook Status: We're okay

_13 Weeks and three days_

She was fine.

The doctor didn't know what caused the bleeding, but my baby was fine. I couldn't shake that terrible thought, though - somehow it was me me me. My body failed me. Biology was protecting the little baby inside me from growing up with a freak for a parent. I mean, how could I be a mother when my own mother couldn't love me?

As if sensing my terrible logic, Edward pulled me into the cradle of his arms, cuddling me as if I was the most precious thing in the universe. And to him, I believe I was.

"You know I love you, baby. Tell me you know? Because I love you so fucking much."

I sighed, lowering the volume on the TV with the remote. "I love you, too."

"But do you know how much you're loved?" His voice cracked.

"You're fucking nuts... but yeah. I can tell."

I needed to turn off my mind. It wouldn't stop spinning in circles of blame and doubt and fear. Edward loved me. He chose to love me every day we stayed together, but for the life of me, I didn't really understand why.

"The baby's gonna love you so much, too. You're gonna be the best mother ever."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but the fear took over before I could respond, wrapping its shadow around my throat. I couldn't breathe under the weight.

"What if she doesn't make..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"She's fine. We're all fine."

"It was too late to be an implantation bleed." I bit my finger until Edward pried it out of my mouth.

"You need to stop obsessing about it." His voice was tired, lazy, and he turned up the volume on the television.

"I'm so worried about worrying too much," I admitted. "I wish I could calm down."

"Zombie movies are sure to help."

"Don't judge. Zombie movies are like my comfort food. Speaking of which, I wish I could eat." All I wanted was watermelon. I liked to cut the fruit in half and stick my face in it, having no patience to properly slice it.

"Can I watch you go down on a watermelon again?" Edward asked, rolling over onto his side, eyes darkening.

I rubbed my swollen belly and countered, "I'd rather watch _you_ go down on a watermelon."

-({})-

Facebook Status: Here's Mr. Winky

_19 Weeks_

Fingers pressed into my abdomen, my bladder protesting. "I'm going to piss all over this gurney. That'll be embarrassing for the both of us."

The technician smiled. "Just a few more measurements of the fetus, and you can pee out about a cup of urine. I know this is uncomfortable."

"What do you mean, _a cup_? Once the levy breaks, there's no holding back the flood!"

"Mrs. Cullen-"

"Swan," I corrected.

"Mrs. Swan, we need a full bladder to see everything."

"That makes no fucking sense. What does my bladder have to do with my uterus." I sat up and looked at the screen, barely making out the grainy outline of my uterus. "Holy fuck!"

Edward's face reddened. "Bella... calm down."

"Shut the fuck up," I said, my hand reaching for the screen as if I could touch our baby through the computer. "We're having a boy," I whispered, falling back on the exam table, shaking. "Holy fuck, there really _is _a little sex-hair inside me... and not the usual kind of little sex-hair. I mean, not your dick. But there totally is a dick inside me right now. It belongs to our son. But not in a gross way."

"Please stop rambling," Edward begged.

"How did you know?" the technician asked, her brow folding in confusion. "I'm not permitted to reveal the sex... how could you possibly know from the ultrasound image?"

"You told me." I laughed.

"No, I didn't."

I pointed to the corner of the screen which was clearly labeled XY. "Y chromosome equals boy."

The technician grinned. "Someone was paying attention in biology class."

"Hardly!" I laughed. "I was too busy lusting after my lab partner."

"How did that work out for you?" She took the sheet covering my legs and wiped the ultrasound goopy-gel off my belly.

"The bastard knocked me up with his son." Stupid tears spilled down my cheeks. Edward grabbed my hand and started babbling. I couldn't really decipher what he said. "Use your words, sweetie." I giggled. I couldn't stop. Honestly, it felt like I was high on nitrous.

_Giddy. This is what happiness feels like._

"I love you so fucking much." His eyes shone. Shit, maybe he'd start crying, and if he cried, I'd never stop. "I swear, pretty girl, it's like my chest hurts. I can't even say... I fucking love you."

"Maybe you have indigestion," I joked. "God knows I do. Could be sympathy gas or something."

"It's love," he insisted.

"Have you tried farting?"

"Okay." The technician helped me into a seated position and swivelled her chair away from the computer. "You two are officially the strangest couple I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. That being said, would you like a picture of your son?"

I nodded, swinging my legs off the exam table.

"I still need to record a few measurements, but..."

The image was black and white and completely pixelated. Clear as day, though, an arrow pointed to my unborn son's tiny penis. The technician typed the words "Mr. Winky" beside the arrow.

"This is totally going into the photo album," I squealed.

-{(})-

Facebook Status: Too posh to push

_28 Weeks_

My doctor had a wicked sense of humour. While some might find her abrasive, for some reason, I found her strange bedside manner oddly comforting.

"You have really narrow hips," Dr. Abramovitch remarked.

"Awesome. Uh, thanks." I mean, that was like a compliment, right?

My doctor frowned. "Hope you don't mind being cut. I'm pretty sure your baby's head is going to get stuck."

"Yes! I mean, yes. To the being cut part. I don't want to push this baby out of my vagina. I've heard really bad things about tearing and stuff. Please, please, please cut me?"

"Uh... yeah. That's the first time anyone's ever begged me for a c-section." She scribbled something on my chart and then regarded me with wary eyes. "I can't just cut you open, Bella. Not without reason."

"My baby, my choice," I argued.

"Explain your reasoning?"

"I'd rather have stitches in my abdomen than my vagina."

She frowned. "Your recovery time will be impacted. It's an open surgery, Bella. This isn't a decision to be made lightly."

"I'm putting my foot down on the matter, doc. I refuse to push this baby out. My body wasn't designed for childbirth."

"That's nonsense."

"I'm not supposed to be a mother. This is just further evidence - my narrow hips or whatever." I chewed on my finger. "I'm prepared to be very annoying until you grant me my elective surgery."

"Yes, Bella." She sighed. "I have no doubt about that."

-({})-

Facebook Status: Skin stretches... bones break

_32 Weeks_

"It's natural, sweetie. You'll be fine." Edward rubbed my sore back, his fingers careful yet thorough.

"This is nice." I sighed, arching into his touch. My lower back ached with a steady, pulsing burn, and his fingers somehow numbed the fire. "But you're not gonna talk me out of this."

"Your doctor hasn't agreed to perform the c-section. You really should try to give birth naturally." His fingers became wicked, hooking under the back of my stretch pants.

"I miss fucking you," I said, wiggling. "I do, but the thought of your dick in me right now makes me physically ill."

"That's not the kind of thing a guy likes to hear," he replied, his hand now playful inside my panties. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the tingling sensations his touch incited between my legs, but I couldn't relax enough to enjoy it.

"How would you like it if you had to push a baby through your dick?"

He laughed, the bastard. "That's not possible."

"Yeah, well... it doesn't seem possible to push a baby out of my pussy, either."

"But it's natural, baby. Women have been doing it since the dawn of the human race."

"I don't care. I've got exactly as much experience pushing a baby out of my genitals as you do. Don't give me your bullshit about it being different."

He hooked his fingers under the elastic of my pants and pulled them down over my hips.

-({})-

_34 Weeks_

I lay in the bathtub, feeling my son move inside my tummy. His foot, or maybe his knee, pushed out, stretching my skin. Somehow I felt like he reached for me

A sigh escaped me, and I pressed my hand against the little bump.

"I love you, too, little man. Mommy loves you."

-({})-

_36 Weeks_

"What's wrong?" Edward asked, shrugging his laptop bag off his shoulder.

"You're gonna think it's stupid." I wiped my face, feeling it heat up. I wasn't embarrassed, exactly... just really frustrated.

"Do you feel sick, pretty girl?" He sat beside me on the couch, his eyes widening when he noticed the image on my iPad. "Wait, is that porn?"

"Yeah." I sniffled. "And the porn guys can't get me off. They're not sexy like you." I minimized the Safari page and squirmed a little. My pussy felt so wet and swollen and desperate, like it was ready to snap from hunger. Seriously. It was so ravenous it would probably snap at Edward's finger if he tried to touch it.

A tight smile crawled across his face, his eyes downcast. "I'm so sorry, baby. I hate leaving you, uh, hanging here. It's just... it makes me uncomfortable."

"Some nymphomaniac you are." I ignored him then, turning over the iPad and taking matters into my own hands. There was no dignity in masturbating in nearly the ninth month of pregnancy, but a rabid pussy could not be ignored.

"What're you doing?" he asked, his voice husky with desire... or maybe disgust.

"You can watch if you want, but with or without you, I'm giving myself an orgasm." I shoved my hand under the waistband of my yoga pants and grunted as girlishly as I could manage. My fingers slid between my labia as if they were coated in bacon grease.

"Christ." He palmed his cock over his jeans, and it occurred to me that I looked ridiculous, all swollen like a beach ball while flicking my bean. "Are you wet?"

"Wet would be the understatement of the century." The fapping was so loud I was pretty sure the upstairs neighbours could hear me. I cried out, sliding four of my fingers in and out of myself, over and over again.

But it wasn't enough. A crazy pressure built inside of me, and I was going to scream if it didn't release.

Fuck if I cared what I looked like. I'd never been this horny in my entire life. Seriously, I was a second away from dragging my pussy across the bedroom floor just for a little friction.

"I want you so much. Fuck!" Edward lowered the zipper of his fly, and wrapped his fist around his dick. "I just... jeez, it's so fucked-up to do it when I can feel our son moving between us."

"It's cool, babe. He likes it when I have an orgasm. He kicks and stuff." I lifted my shirt over my head with one hand, keeping my other hand inside my greedy cunt.

"That's not helping with the weird."

"Well... you can fuck me from behind." I crawled onto the bed, wiggling my ass in the air. "That way you won't feel anything moving inside me."

"I hope to feel at least_ one_ thing moving inside you." He pushed his dick inside me with a swift stroke, and I practically screamed as the pressure in my groin intensified. I gasped, unable to catch my breath.

"Shit, baby. Your pussy is squeezing me. It's never felt like this-"

My abdomen clenched, fire shooting up my spine.

"Get your dick out of me!" I screamed, folding over my massive belly.

Like a cork to a bottle of champagne, he unstopped the seal, and my water exploded all over the couch.

-({})-

Edward looked like a neurotic zombie - all pale and twitchy and desperate. I smiled as calmly as I could manage from my place on the operating table and said, "Dude, stop. Stop and look at me."

He nodded, breathing, not breathing, and oh god, I thought he was gonna pass out.

"It's fine. I'm fine. I can't feel half my body which is freaking me out a bit, but the morphine is kinda nice."

He laughed, nervous. "Look at you hogging the good stuff. I could use something to take the edge off, too. No one ever thinks about the poor father."

"Yeah, this must be really hard for _you_. I mean, you have to stand there and do nothing. I'm being cut open and stuff. Speaking of which..." I tried to lift my head but couldn't. All I could see was the blue curtain that separated me from whatever the surgical team was doing below my chest. "Are you gonna tell me when you make a cut?" I wanted to chew on my fingers, but the nurses had shackled my hands on either side of me like Jesus on the cross. Sort of. Wait, was that a blasphemous thought?

"We made the first cut ten minutes ago," Dr. Abramovitch said. "You might feel a bit of tugging now."

I felt nothing but heard a shrill scream.

"Alright, who brought a baby in here?" I joked.

"It's a boy... and what a boy! He's huge!"

It happened so quickly: one moment I hadn't even realized the doctor had started the surgery, the next, a huge, squirming baby appeared.

"Oh my god. Oh my god." I choked. I'd been so frightened of this moment - meeting my son.

The pediatrician cut the cord - I guess Edward didn't look up to the task - and examined him, all the while my boy screamed at the indignity.

-({})-

There's this moment of pure terror as a new parent. You stare at the little human that somehow you created, wondering how the fuck you'll ever protect him from being as fucked up as you.

I hadn't expected it, this fear. Shit, I spent my pregnancy worried about all the wrong things - the pain, failure, not bonding with my child... I hadn't thought about the next eighteen years.

Everything shifted in my life the first moment I looked at Eliot. I couldn't explain it. I felt like a blind woman seeing for the first time.

No, that's a crap simile.

More like my universe rearranged itself, and Eliot became the centre of it.

"I don't want him to turn out like me," I whispered to Edward.

"You don't want him to be strong and funny and smart and beautiful?" He kissed the top of my head and placed his hand on the back our sleeping son.

"You're so silly." I grinned. "I want him to be like you, though. I do."

"The way you regard me is absurd," he whispered.

"You're kind, responsible, caring, silly, and really good at cunnilingus."

"You forgot smart!" He pretended to be offended.

"Nah, we both know I'm the brains of this operation."

Eliot took this moment to wake up and scream.

"Shit!" Edward swore. "What do we do?"

"Help me take my shirt off." I laughed.

"Now's not the time!"

"Not for you, silly. Just trust me."

I have no clue how I knew what to do to calm Eliot, but I just sort of knew. Not that motherhood was easy, just some things were intrinsic. I heard it in his cry - the need he had to be close to my breast even though he wasn't latching properly yet.

Edward laid him over my stomach, Eliot's tiny fists clenching and unclenching as I cradled him against me, my palm fanning out over the back of his precious head. "Mommy loves you, little man," I whispered. "More than anything. No one will ever fuck with your life. You're my priority... no matter what."

Sometimes we learn from tragedy, I suppose. Maybe I needed to thank my mother for being a role model - she represented everything I'd sooner kill myself than be.

But looking at Eliot I knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, I knew there was no way I'd ever allow another person to hurt him.

Maybe I'd never be able to get over what happened to me, but Eliot would be fine. And I'd be fine for him.

"I love you, Bella. Thank you." Edward wiped an errant tear off his cheek. "He's perfect... everything I never knew I wanted."

Life is unexpected. Lennon said it's what happens when you're making other plans.

Eliot was perfect and unexpected and loved. He was my life now.

There would likely come a day when I'd lose myself to despair again, but for now, I simply enjoyed this moment - our little corner of happily-ever-after.

And should the darkness ever descend again, I could fight it. Eliot was my own personal sun.

**A/N - this is the final epi. No more. Thanks so much for reading! I have one WIP still running called Face Blind. It's kind of a drabble. Shadow has one chapter left. Buzz my phone, please? One last time.**


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